


Film Fashion

by Anonymous



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, M/M, Smut, a whole FUCKTON of angst, all of the abuse is phil/OC fyi dan is mean but not terrible, dan is a dick, fashion blogger!Dan, inspired by atara's au (aka spacecattle/ennuidan/horrorphil etc lol), lots of character development n shit like that in this fic, movie reviewer!Phil, phil is a lovable dork
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-06-08 18:43:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 63,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6868954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan and Phil don’t exactly make good first impressions on each other. Phil is a walking disaster of a movie reviewer, and Dan is an asshole diva that runs a fashion blog. Neither know how they just keep coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Striped Green Trousers

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fashion Blogger Dan and Movie Reviewer Phil AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/214063) by Atara (Horrorphil). 



> NOTE: there is some dubcon for Phil/OC pairing in later chapters, but I wanted to move it out of main tags. Abuse is also for Phil/OC pairing.  
> Also: this started out as a fluffy one to twoish shot. slowly, it became the monster of angst and pain it is today. i'm very sorry. just remember while i make my characters roll around in emotional agony that there will be a happy ending.  
> -  
> I'm late to the party but Atara's aka (for now) horrorphil’s D&P fashion movie AU is amazing and I found their headcanons after I started writing sorry (and made Dan inept at videos bc Phil had to be better at something) but GOD I loVE IT so here it is - also I found it through wavyfoxtrot’s beautimous art [which can be found here](http://wavyfoxtrot.tumblr.com/post/142818654968)  
> aghhhh so much talent  
> (also there was so much research I tried to do for this AU. Please forgive mistakes I am but a socially anxious introvert writer who doesn’t go outside. I took a lot of liberties as I do not fashion nor do I "officially" movie and most of all I definitely do not red carpet/after party so writing this thing was just basically a whole crock of WHAT THE FUCK so shhh on the inevitable factual inaccuracies)  
> 

PART ONE

Eye-catching gold streaked black tie? Check. Drool-worthy, shiny new leather Derby shoes? Check. And finally, custom made, scandalously form-fitting English cut suit from some obscure designer he’d forgotten the name of but was _so_ going to rave about later? Check, because if there was anything Dan loved in every outfit, it was just a bit of scandal.

Although mostly a lot of scandal − and a touch of eyeliner.

Dan stood in front of his full-length mirror, straightening his collar as he dropped the eyeliner pencil into his pocket. Yeah, he looked pretty damn good if he did say so himself. He tugged at his suit jacket, debating whether this lighting would suffice, or whether it was time to search out a better room – honestly, he had a lot of rooms with full length mirrors. Regardless, it was time to let Instagram know.

A good fifteen minutes of filter adjustments later, “ _Red carpet of Dawn Light tonight and I look fineeee_ ” was garnering vast approval from Dan’s followers. And photographers would capture enough of his suit on better cameras tonight on the carpet to slap all over his blog.

It really paid to have friends in high places in all sorts of industries. They could get you invited anywhere, even to the premiere of one of the supposed top movies of the year.

He refreshed the page. It also paid to have a gargantuan fan base to back up getting offers to attend events. The picture wasn’t doing bad for three minutes – but he was running a famous fashion blog on the side of an acclaimed modelling career, and had no small amount of Instagram followers, after all. He tucked his phone into his pocket.

With one last swipe of his fingers through his hair, Dan nodded at himself.

_Perfect._

* * *

Where was the shirt? Oh god, he couldn’t find the shirt, never mind his jacket! And where on earth were his _socks_? Phil could’ve sworn he’d put everything neat and tidy together over the back of his chair a few days ago before filming his latest review, but his entire outfit had transported itself to another dimension, apparently. He was standing amid piles of discarded clothing, wearing his trousers and nothing else.

And he hadn’t even finished editing the stupid thing like he’d planned to before he’d decided he had better double check he had everything together for Dawn Light’s premiere. Now he was making a mess, pulling clothes out of his closet to search everywhere.

There. Thank goodness. Shirt and blazer, hidden behind hanging T-shirts. Yeah, he probably should have found something a little more appropriate than an informal, cheerful sky blue, but a black suit was so _boring_. Phil buttoned up and shrugged on the blazer. It was a little tight in all the wrong places. He’d gotten it for some fancy event his mum had dragged him to a few years ago, but clothes were meant to be worn, not thrown away, weren’t they? And he couldn’t find fancy trousers that weren’t his striped green ones that might not quite match the jacket, but it was _fine_. In Phil’s opinion, it looked kind of cool, anyway.

Phil sighed as he gazed at his wardrobe lying on the floor around him. Nobody would notice if he wore mismatched socks, right? And if there were tiny giraffes on one and lions on the other, it wasn’t like his pants wouldn’t cover them.

It didn’t matter, he was going to be watching the movie, not giving a speech. Everyone would be too focused on the beautiful cinematography to care about his sense of style.

Right?

Phil started lacing up his shoes and glanced at the time. He nearly broke his neck tripping over a mountain of jeans, because _it could not be that late._

_Crap._

***

“You’re late,” whispered Simon.

“I know!” hissed Phil. “I’m aware, thanks.”

“They’ve probably closed it off by now.”

“Simon! It’s my YouTube channel, not yours, all right? You’re just filming it.”

“You look like a clown,” his cameraman laughed quietly in his ear.

“I’ll fire you.” There was no venom in his tone. Phil couldn’t do venom, unfortunately, or at least, he couldn’t do it and be taken seriously.

“Who else would film for you, Rudolph?” Simon grinned.

Phil turned to stare at his cameraman, trying to hold back his own grudging amusement. People thought _he_ was weird, but Simon’s thought processes were beyond out there. Maybe that had been why Phil had dated him once: the prospect of getting inside that head had been too appealing. “Rudolph?”

Simon’s grin widened to a perfect-white-teeth-revealing crooked smirk. “You’re a clown. Clowns have red noses. Rudolph.”

He _would_ fire Simon after this, Phil decided. It had to be done. Sure, he didn’t have a lot of friends, much less ones willing to film for him when he made videos that weren’t him reviewing movies with a tripod, but Phil would figure it out. He didn’t need to put up with this.

(He actually did need to put up with it, and he probably wouldn’t fire Simon. Because he was Phil, and Simon was Simon, and that was how they worked. But Phil could still _think_ it.)

Besides, didn’t most people avoid their snarky exes instead of keeping them as a weird best friend?

“Press? Who you with?”

Phil swallowed around a dry mouth as a muscled security man appeared in his face. Phil might be taller, but a tap from the guy’s finger on his forehead and Phil would probably be on the floor, concussed. He held up his badge and tried not to squeak. “Uh, online, actually.”

“Good, because this pen’s closed. Down at the last section. Hurry it up, or they’ll rope that off too.”

“You’re really, really lucky, Phil −” Simon panted as they ran.

“Simon, I want you to know, you don’t get to film any more after this.”

“Aren’t you a grumpy clown? I thought you’d be about ready to explode with happiness, you got lucky and scored that free ticket to the big movie you were so excited about. While I’m left out in the cold, just a mere practically unpaid slave in your process.”

Phil squeezed through the throng and reached back to pull Simon through the crowd by the sleeve, sighing.  “I pay you plenty. And you’re driving back to pick me up after, don’t forget. All right, we’re filming until we get at least three interviews. Hopefully with cast members, but I can settle for other people. Then I have to head in to find a seat.” He peered around at the crowd. “The lighting is terrible here.”

“It’s the red carpet for a major movie, it isn’t terrible,” Simon muttered, pulling the camera and mic out of their bag and handing the mic to Phil.

“It _is_ terrible, all right? I’m a movie reviewer and I make videos for a living. It’s gross and harsh and will probably make me feel sick when I edit this.”

There was probably another witty Simon quip to this that Phil might have rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh at, but Phil was being jostled by the crowd as tech people in black started running down the carpet, talking into headsets and murmuring to each other. Everyone off the carpet wanted to see what celebrities were coming, and if any of them would give an interview after all the carpet they’d already walked.

Several impressively clothed but unknown people to Phil passed, caught by excited bloggers or the rest of the mishmash of online reporter types that shared the section with him.

Finally, a minor actress from the movie appeared, and the section crowded toward her. Another strode by as Phil tried and failed to get her attention.

“I’d’ve thought the neon blue and green stripes combo would catch more peoples’ eyes,” Simon chuckled, and Phil gave him a look which was cut off by noticing an actor from one of his favourite movies approach. Phil finally flagged him down, and Simon watched with camera recording as Phil interviewed him, pink spots high in his cheeks.

“So I have some questions fans have tweeted for me to ask red carpet goers.” Phil scrambled through his notecards, obviously looking for something that wasn’t too embarrassing. He finally settled on one, though he went even redder. “Alison asks: would you rather live on a weird alien planet or live for five more years with everything the same but you have an elephant trunk?”

His interviewee’s eye twitched, and Phil felt his stomach sink as the greying man smiled over-politely. He scrambled for something else. “I have, uh, better questions than this, sorry.”

Phil dropped his cards on the floor and died a little inside.

The next two interviews with actual cast members didn’t go much better. Although Phil wasn’t quite as star-struck, neither seemed to have a great sense of humour, as Phil’s fans certainly did. The lucky fourth interview they got with another big name went all right, but Phil felt harried and hot and done, and botched his outro with her.

He shoved the mic into Simon’s chest and, before Simon could say anything – that might have actually been comforting for once, judging by the glimpse of his surprisingly concerned expression Phil had caught − began to push past him, yanking off his press badge, planning to head for one of the security people to ask where a side entrance to the theatre was when the crowd surged, pushing him back, into the rope.

Phil tripped backward, only just untangling his foot from the red rope as he fell toward the carpet, Simon’s voice, yelling after him just reaching his ears.

Phil collided with a stranger in a painful jumble of limbs, sharp elbows and chins. The wind was knocked out of whoever it was as they landed in a heap, Phil collapsing on the guy’s chest as he heard something crash. An extra sharp intake of breath sounded in Phil’s ear, and the guy spoke, in a breathless, low voice.

“Did you just −”

The guy shoved Phil off, jumping to his feet, eyes wide in horror. Phil followed his gaze a sleek black phone lying next to the wall, its screen completely shattered.

* * *

 Dan stood, staring at his broken phone, then at the complete idiot that had done it.

“Oh my god.” The man – boy, more like, with that face and the eyesore of a turquoise blazer and _striped green trousers_ − wobbled into a standing position, leaning down to retrieve Dan’s phone. As those hideous trousers rode up, Dan’s eyes alighted on his mismatched animal socks and felt his lips part in mild disbelief. Did he know where they were? Yet he was wearing _those_? “I’m so sorry, I didn’t −”

“That is a source of my income you’ve just broken.”

“S-sorry?” Wide, bright baby blues rose to his face. Dan clenched his jaw and tried to maintain a sneer because this guy deserved some heat with what he’d just done − even as those awfully pretty eyes widened further.

“Are you...you’re not...Dan Howell, are you?”

“And why would you know?” Dan let his gaze conspicuously linger on the stranger’s attire, who promptly turned bright red.

“I...I...You just...you did a couple pieces on your blog about some movies’ costuming...”

Dan snatched the busted phone from his hand, shoving it in his pocket. He could see its insides. It wasn’t about to start working again anytime soon. “So?” he snarled.

The guy’s ears were red, too, now. “They were...good. We had a...” His voice trailed off into a  mumble.

“We had a what? What are you talking about?” Several people on the other side of the rope had noticed them, in particular, some random cameraman was at the rope, eyes wide, looking from Dan to the guy. But worse, people were passing them on the carpet, side-eyeing them. Dan didn’t have time for this, and he certainly didn’t care enough about this bumbling guy to spare him much mind.

“We had a fairly in depth conversation about it.”

That, however, caught Dan’s attention. “What?”

“Twitter. We DM’d for a while, a few months ago. About different films’ fashions and things. I’m Phil Lester?”

Wait. This was that guy who had that movie reviewing YouTube channel? When they’d first started talking, he wouldn’t shut up about that one movie – _Sisters’ Bond_ or whatever it was – and its use of a costume piece as amazing symbolism for the “overarching theme,” a “reverse thesis image,” and some shit about saving a cat when all Dan had cared about was the delicate, intricate workmanship in gold thread on the dress’s extravagant, satin tiered skirts.

But his Twitter profile picture had been – kind of cute. Dan might have done a bit of thirst responding to the first few tweets he’d sent.

Surely this guy – Phil – and the other one weren’t the same person? God, had Dan really had a crush on this clumsy fashion disaster who was clearly pathetically star-struck at the sight of him?

A security guard was suddenly at Dan’s elbow, glaring, herding them in. “Wrap it up, wrap it up.”

Dan and Phil were shoved together through the doors into the cool, darkened theatre. Dan sent another glare at Phil, who was looking mildly panicked, looking back at someone in the crowd – didn’t have a ticket, Dan was sure, and didn’t feel sorry. Dan turned to another guard, producing his ticket. The guard nodded and looked past Dan to Phil.

“Your plus one?” he grunted, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Dan blinked and turned to look at Phil, who had taken out his own ticket and was now shaking his head, but the guard had moved on.

“What the fuck?” Dan demanded. “You don’t get to sit over here with me!”

But as he looked around, Dan realised that their argument outside had pushed them to the back of the line. Most of the theatre was already full, and seats were scarce.

Dan coolly avoided Phil’s eyes as he slid into a partly empty row, and as Phil helplessly followed and tried to sit next to him, Dan gave him an icy glare that warned, _don’t even think about it_. Phil, cowed, slid back a couple of seats and plopped down, shoulders hunched as the lights darkened further and they both turned their attention to the front.


	2. Blankets and Chocolate

Phil sniffled, swiping an already wet sleeve across his eyes as the closing music softly came to an end and the credits began. Applause echoed around the theatre and he hastily raised his hands to contribute, blinking back more tears.

It had been so...so _beautiful_. The score had been impeccable, the acting perfect, the writing...good god. He wasn’t sure his other favourite movies could stand up to this anymore. He hadn’t even found himself doing much of his habitual film analysis, he’d been so caught up.

Absently, he pulled out his phone to turn it on, planning to text Simon he could head over to pick him up now. But before he could type in more than a “Hey,” someone grabbed the phone out of his hands and continued down the row.

“Hey, what are you −”

Phil jumped up to dart after the thief, who turned back on him as Phil grabbed his shoulder. Dan Howell scowled at him. “Think of it as payback. I have much more important things I have to do on a phone right now than I’m sure you have. Texting your −” He peered down at the screen and let out a surprisingly bitter sounding laugh. “What, your boyfriend?”

He turned and kept on walking, Phil’s phone still in his hands.

“No, he’s not – wait, I need – _hey!_ ” Phil ground his teeth together and ran to follow him out the doors. Dan appeared entirely preoccupied in whatever it was he was doing, and Phil couldn’t exactly snatch the phone out of his hands –

He could, actually. He should. It was _his_ phone. Snatching it was what Dan had done.

Phil made a grab and Dan turned away, pulling it out of his reach as he kept typing, like he’d expected it. Phil fumed as Dan came to a stop on the walk outside the theatre, still engrossed.

“Dan!”

They both looked up as a group of people Phil recognised from several areas of fame signaled, standing on the curb. Dan waved back and started walking towards them. Phil, feeling increasingly more rattled, followed.

“ _Wow_.” One of the women that Phil vaguely remembered from a magazine spread somewhere, in a hugging red gown, reached to tweak Dan’s suit jacket. “You clean up well, Daniel. Look at that makeup...”

“I don’t exactly spend a lot of time in sweatshirts, Jessica. You know that.” Dan smirked at the woman.

A guy in a midnight blue tux laughed, and Phil recognised him as a secondary character from a few action movies. “No, but if my girlfriend’s right, I hear your Instagram has plenty of crop tops?”

Dan shrugged as Phil blinked, still unnoticed as he hovered in the background. “Male fashion is too narrow nowadays. It wouldn’t be any fun if I just wore polo shirts all the time.”

“It’s sexy, honestly,” said the woman in red, and giggles of agreement ran through the rest of the women. “It’s why I date models, they aren’t afraid to rock _anything_. Wasn’t there a skirt you wore last week?”

Dan nodded and she laughed, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “We should go for coffee soon.”

“Because he looks good in skirts?” one of the other guys, a guy Phil didn’t recognise with lightly spiked hair, teased, elbowing her. “Is that what girls like? Oh, finally, here’s the car.”

A _limo_ glided into place by the curb next to them and Phil felt a spike of butterflies in his stomach. “Dan −”

They started piling in, Dan included, still with the phone. Phil dithered on the sidewalk until the driver, holding the door, turned to look at him. “Come on, get in, lad.”

“W-what?” Phil stammered.

“Get in! We haven’t got all day.” He shoved Phil in and closed the door after him.

Phil looked around the roomy interior as the driver started up the car and pulled away, feeling sick. He wasn’t supposed to be here. They were going to realise and kick him out soon, probably in the cold, without a ride, without knowing where he was, and without his phone.

As he sank into the seat closest to the door, finally, a girl with a blond bob and black spiderweb-eque dress − another model from somewhere − noticed him. She wrinkled her nose, snuggling closer to a guy in a maroon blazer, who had his arm around her. “Ew, what are you wearing?”

This caught the attention of others in the group. Dan had become reabsorbed in the phone, but most of the others turned to look at Phil. Another girl in green sitting down the row from Phil tilted her head as she looked at him. “I don’t know, I think it’s cute. Quirky little thing. Who’re you?”

“I just −” Phil helplessly looked to Dan. “Dan −”

“Shut up, Becky.” Jessica – the red gowned woman – turned to Dan, rolling her eyes as Becky, the girl in green, withdrew sheepishly. “Is _that_ why you’d never go on dates with me, Dan? You were hiding this kid from us?”

They all laughed as Dan raised his eyebrow, eyes on the screen, and gave a noncommittal grunt.

“Still.” Becky slid closer to Phil, smiling. “You’d have thought Dan wouldn’t have let you out of the house in this. He’s much more of a funeral fashion type. All black, most days.”

“Those aren’t _animal socks_? Isn’t he _adorable_?” Jessica had caught sight of his socks as Phil shifted uncomfortably away from the attention, and was now snickering along with the rest of the car as it came to a stop.

The limo emptied as fast as it had filled, its occupants still laughing as Phil awkwardly followed them out onto the pavement, keeping his hot face hidden. A lit up building with faint bass booming from inside stood in front of them, a sign proclaiming, “Dawn Light” over the entrance, guarded by another security guy.

Herded by the group, Phil was pulled along toward the door, anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He dawdled, rubbing his arms in the cold night air as the group started to pass through the door. Fine, somehow he’d made it through the limo ride, surely this would be where he’d be found out, he didn’t have a ticket to the after party of this, he was just a small YouTuber who’d been able to interview these people – but just as some of the last people filtered in and the bouncer turned a fearsome glare on him, one of the actresses from the group reached back and twined her arm around Phil’s. “It’s all right, he’s with us!”

The guy looked suspicious, but didn’t make a move as the woman pulled Phil after her into the party. A buffet lined the left side of the enormous room, and giant posters of the movie covered the walls. A DJ booth stood in the back corner, and people still dressed in luxury were dancing all around the room, or gathered in fame-status-divided clusters, talking and laughing.

Most of the group split, each person finding other friends amongst the crowd. Phil peered around the dim interior, lit mostly by moving, colourful beams from the DJ’s booth (an interesting lighting setup, in fact, Phil would have to try something like this at some point for a video), searching for – there.

He caught up to Dan, leaning against the far wall, the glow of Phil’s phone screen still illuminating his face.

“I need my phone back!” Phil huffed as he came to a stop in front of Dan.

After a few minutes of Dan apparently ignoring him, Dan finally heaved a sigh and locked the phone. “There.”

He tucked the phone into his pocket and seemed to notice Phil standing in front of him, looking peeved, for the first time. “What are you doing here?”

“You _stole my phone_!”

“You broke _my_ phone and I had work to do,” Dan shot back, standing up, and Phil swallowed. He wasn’t used to people being taller than him, but Dan was. And Dan was standing really close, and he was really warm even though Phil felt cold, and he smelled nice –

“So you followed me this whole way? Stalker much?” Dan started to brush past him.

“Give me my phone back and I’ll leave you alone!” Phil startled even himself with his sharp tone, coming out louder than he’d intended, but his throat felt tight and his eyes were watering with angry unshed tears. People were turning and staring.

Dan, obviously seething that attention was being paid to them, turned back on Phil, hissing through clenched teeth, “Fine. Then I expect you to pay for my new phone. This was your mistake, _Phil_.”

Phil was about to respond until the phone Dan had shoved into his hands buzzed. Phil looked down to see Simon’s umpteenth text: “ARE YOU DEAD? WHAT THE HELL PHIL??”

“Oh crap, Simon −” Phil scrambled to text back, looking up at Dan, who was trying to sulkily sneak away amidst the people continuing to peer at them curiously. “Why didn’t you tell me Simon was texting me?!”

Dan’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, sorry, was I standing in the way of your stupid relationship? You know what? I’m done with this.”

He turned and began forcibly shoving his way through the crowd, away from Phil. Phil started in the opposite direction toward the door to outside, Simon’s number already dialed.

* * *

 

Jade would make this better, Dan thought. Where was she? She was supposed to be here, she’d promised she’d find him at the after party.

Emerald green mermaid gown with a plunging neckline in the middle of the dance floor. He wouldn’t have expected anything less.

“Hey, hottie.” She grinned at him as he danced up beside her and she draped her arms around his shoulders – as much as she could, anyway, given that she barely came up to his chest. “I haven’t seen you in...” She paused. “Eight hours? A lifetime.”

“Yeah, hey.” Dan smiled back as convincingly as possible before he spilled the whole night’s events. Jade stopped dancing, twisting a finger in her shoulder-length spiky black bob, her eyes wide in her dark face.

“Can you fucking believe it?” Dan growled after he finished.

“Yeah, what a dick.” She swayed again to the beat, eyes now off to the side. Her tone didn’t convince him.

“The hell, Jade, I’d have thought you’d be on my side? Best friends and all that?”

She sighed, rubbing his arm. “I am, Dan, I am. I just think you might have been a bit harsh. He’s, what, a YouTuber, whatever the hell that means? And not exactly big there? I doubt he can pay for your phone easily, babe. That isn’t exactly...reasonable.”

“He was shitty to me!”

“All right, Dan.” She widened her eyes in a placating way and took his hands, pulling him to dance again. “Come on, forget about it.”

“No! I’m really pissed right now, Jade.”

“Then go and cool off. Here isn’t the place for a meltdown, there are photographers all over. I could swear I’ve already seen some lenses pointed your way.”

Dan growled and turned, stalking out of the mass and shoving back toward the door. He and Jade stuck together like glue, barely spending a day apart if they could help it since high school after they’d gotten their first modelling gig together, but sometimes, she just had a way about her that was so _annoying_. Always partying, which was fun most of the time, but at others...

Outside was relatively empty and quiet. A bouncer who seemed to be nodding off leaned by the doorway, and Dan unbuttoned his suit jacket, sitting on the edge of the pavement and angrily running fingers through his hair.

A few cars passed, creeping by sleepily, and Dan watched them disappear slowly down the road. He was just beginning to let the bubble of anger boiling in his chest dissolve in the relative calmness when something pierced the quiet – screeching wheels. A car squealed to a sudden halt a bit down the road, and Dan, startled, watched it curiously. Someone standing down the road that Dan hadn’t noticed earlier heaved themselves off the shadowed wall and started toward the car, arms wrapped around their body against the cold night air. The driver, however, didn’t let them get too far before he opened the door and made an almost flying leap towards his companion, arms wrapping around them.

As another car turned down the street, headlights illuminating the scene, Dan felt suddenly oddly sick as the anger roared back to life, watching Phil wrap his own arms around who could only be Simon and burying his face in the man’s chest.

* * *

 

“You woke me up, I need sleep.”

“I seriously thought you were dead, Phil. But I let you be quiet and broody and not tell me anything at all last night and I dropped you off and I was _good_ but now _you owe me answers_.”

“It’s like six in the morning.” Phil yawned and wrapped himself up more deeply in his blankets. It was too cold and early for this.

“Tell me what happened!” Simon, for once, sounded genuinely concerned about him, and it snapped Phil out of it. He’d been really weird since last night, hugging Phil and bundling him into the car like Phil was an injured puppy or something, no wisecracks, no borderline rude comments. Just...niceness. Granted, Phil probably hadn’t been looking great as he’d been trying to simply keep it together, but still.

“Fine. But you’re not going to believe me.”

“I probably won’t. Tell me anyway.”

“All right.” Phil shoved on his glasses and took a deep breath.

***

“Hey guys. I’m really, really sorry the video didn’t go up yesterday like it was supposed to.” Phil rubbed his temples. He probably looked as tired as he felt. After explaining the whole thing several times to Simon on the phone, he couldn’t go back to sleep. Then he remembered the video he hadn’t even finished editing, let alone uploaded, and jumped out of bed.

“You might have known, but I went to Dawn Light’s premiere last night, to interview people. I got to see the movie too, which was really good, and I’ll review it when I can see it again. But I kind of got mixed up in some things, and, well...”

Phil hesitated. He’d decided it was time for an update video for his subscribers, but did he really want to put this all out there in the open?

Yes. He did.

“I couldn’t find my clothes, so I was late, and then I got some bad footage because of that – which I will try to salvage – and I was tired and so. We kind of occupy different areas of the internet, so I don’t know if you guys know him, but I sort of ran into Dan Howell, who runs a big fashion blog? And I – I accidentally broke his phone. And so he got really mad and took mine, and made me follow him around the rest of the night trying to get it back and told me I’d have to buy him a new one myself. Basically...”

Phil took a deep breath.

“Basically he was a giant...a giant asshole. So I’m sorry I didn’t get back in time, but it was just a really horrible night after the movie. I’ll get the video up as soon as possible. Bye.”

Phil exhaled as he stood up and began the arduous process of switching off his softbox lights, microphone, and camera and carefully dismantling and putting them away. Should he really post this?

Yes. He should.

After a quick check for quality and synced sound, it uploaded, uncut, as Phil headed to the kitchen to get something to calm his growling stomach while he scrambled to finish editing the late review. There was a knock at the door just as he reached for a cereal box.

“Blankets? Chocolate? Scratch the cereal, then.” Simon stood in the doorway to Phil’s flat, arms full of things as he grinned down at the cereal Phil already held.

“Simon?” Phil could only stutter in surprise as Simon wrapped the heavy blanket he carried around Phil. “I’m barely even dressed. What are you doing here?”

“Well, you’re wearing a shirt, at least.” Simon headed past him, opening the bag of chocolate and popping a few in his mouth, dropping a box of Phil’s favourite cereal on the table. He turned to look at Phil as Phil cautiously closed the door. “I’m being nice.”

Phil sighed, smiling wryly. “I can see that.”

Simon shook shaggy blond hair out of his eyes as he ate another chocolate. “Look, it’s not every day you have someone famous be a shithead to you. I’m trying to comfort you.”

“Doing a bang-up job of it.” Phil snagged the chocolate from Simon’s grasp and went to sit down on the couch, still wrapped in the blanket. He grabbed his laptop and tried the chocolate. Passable. “I’m fine, Simon. I have to work on the video I missed yesterday because of all this.”

“Then I’ll help.” Simon dropped onto the couch next to him, letting his arm drape around the couch behind Phil’s back. Phil inched away, sudden nerves attacking his stomach.

“I’m fine, Simon.”

“Remember how I used to help you edit your videos?” Simon scooted closer.

“Simon, what −”

“I was really worried about you, Phil. And I realised life’s too short keep holding myself back.”

“So you’re −”

Simon was leaning in, green eyes on Phil’s. Phil could smell his toothpaste from here, memories of what it tasted like filling his mind as Simon’s head tilted to the side, closer...

His stomach dropped.

Phil gulped and twisted away, feeling Simon stop short.

“We dated forever ago, Simon,” Phil whispered. “We agreed: friends!”

“Yeah, but, you’ve been flirting back for a while now, Phil. C’mon, baby...”

“Don’t call me that!” Phil stood, pulling away. “What the hell, Simon? I haven’t been ‘flirting back’ ever! I just went through all that crap yesterday and − and this is so...so _weird_. I can’t do this right now!”

Simon rose too, his expression indignant now. “Weird?! Phil, you seriously don’t remember how we used to be? I screwed around with you and you would roll your eyes and laugh at me, and that _was_ our flirting! We start that up again, I look after you, care about you, bring you shit when you need it, and I’m ‘weird’ for thinking you still liked me? I spent all this time staying quiet and just being there for you, and now you won’t even give me this after leading me on?”

Phil stared. “Are you really complaining about being _friendzoned_ to me?!”

Simon was glaring now. “ _Phil_ −”

Phil started backing away, yanking the blanket from around him and throwing it at Simon like it was hot coal. His stomach was tying itself in painful knots, and his voice came out strangled. “You need to leave. Get your things and go. _Now_.”

Simon caught the blanket, his eyes furious slits. “Fine.” He headed for the door, then paused.

He turned to catch Phil’s gaze again, stepping closer, closing the distance between them, his voice low as Phil’s breathing escalated. “You do a great job of keeping people around, Phil. You drove everyone else away too, didn’t you? Guess you don’t need me anymore.”

The door slammed behind him and Phil sank onto the couch, curling up into a ball, trying to calm his heaving breaths and burning eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I made that terrible reference I truly am  
> -  
> also I have a good amount more written but after this chapter it will be updating weekly maybe I think (?)


	3. #DanIsAPrick

“What the _FUCK_!” Dan Howell bellowed.

The hairdresser who was running gel through his coiffed quiff of a hairstyle startled, dropping the comb like a frightened mouse.

“P-pardon?” he squeaked.

“Not you,” snarled Dan.

Both Jade, also a part of the perfume ad Dan was prepping to film, and Dan’s manager, Isabelle, who had burst into the room a moment ago, stood next to his chair. When his manager had come to a screeching halt at the vanity a few minutes ago, breathless and wordless, and simply turned on the TV hanging on the dressing room wall to a celebrity gossip channel, Dan and Jade had spent a few moments in confusion. The reporter, who had been speaking words Dan could barely comprehend, was saying something about “breaking news” with a picture of a familiar face superimposed over the right corner of the screen.

Then the screen had cut to a video, and Dan’s name had been spoken by the last person he wanted to see talking about him on television. Dan had gone cold and then hot, and Jade’s hand had gripped his shoulder suddenly, her long, snowy white nails digging into his collarbone.

Now he sat, fingers clenched around the arms of his chair, stomach in furious knots.

“...made me follow him around the rest of the night trying to get it back and told me I’d have to buy him a new one myself. Basically...basically he was a giant...a giant [BEEP].”

Phil Lester looked exhausted and goddamn pathetic, sitting, small and pale in his bedroom...and apparently, according to the two gossip reporters’ faces, everyone agreed on this point.

“Who knew?” questioned one of the reporters, her eyes wide, but a delighted half smile was on her face, obviously enjoying the juicy gossip. “Dan Howell, beloved fashion blogger and iconic face of the male modelling industry, finally shows his true colours!”

The reporter’s male partner piped up and the camera cut to him. “I don’t know, Cat. I’ve always felt that Dan Howell’s fancied himself a cut above the rest of us.

“I agree, Chris. And of all people to be cruel to, he chooses this poor little...” Cat paused, obviously unsure what to call Phil. “...video maker, Phil Lester?” A picture of Phil with a dorky little smile popped up, and Cat pressed a hand to her cheek. “I mean, how could you be mean to that face?”

“Phil Lester was at Dawn Light’s premiere last night to interview celebrities for his movie reviewing YouTube channel,” Chris nodded. “Unfortunately, this seems to have backfired on him.”

Pictures appeared across the screen of Dan walking around the after party with Phil’s phone, Phil hovering, looking anxious as he followed Dan around. The final snaps were of Dan arguing with Phil, looking pissed off, and Phil leaving the party.

“Although we’re not sure how a fairly small YouTuber got an invite to Dawn Light’s after party, Phil certainly left early, apparently just after starting up a feud with Dan, an influential and respected figure in the fashion industry.” Cat turned to Chris. “I sure hope we can see this ended peacefully, but one thing is for sure – people aren’t reacting kindly to Dan Howell’s rudeness, and have, in fact, responded with a hashtag.”

Tweets appeared on screen.

“Louise says: _Thought you were better than that, @danieljhowell. I definitely won’t be following your blog anymore #danisaprick._ Meanwhile, Duncan wants Dan to know that Dan was his _fashion icon and role model_ but those days were _no more_ , also with the _#danisaprick_.”

“And these are just some of the many tweets that −” Chris piped up as Dan threw the TV remote at the screen and Isabelle went to switch it off. Jade was breathing heavily, like she’d just run a marathon, as his manager whirled around.

“This is a PR disaster,” she hissed at him. “What the hell did you _do_ , Dan?!”

Jade, too, turned to him, obviously wondering the same thing.

“I’ll take care of it,” Dan growled at them both as the still-pale hairdresser misted a final coat of hairspray over his head. He focused on Isabelle. “Just get me a phone number.”

***

Dan glared out the window, irritatedly tapping his fingers against his face, trying not to chew on his nails – painted black for the perfume ad he’d finished shooting a few hours ago. He was used to the plush car and chauffeur that drove him everywhere, but he wasn’t used to running infuriating little errands like this one.

At least that was all it was, Dan reflected, straightening up and unbuttoning his black jacket. This would be simple, easy. Dan wasn’t just some D-list celebrity with an easily smearable name.

Phil Lester would be so terrified, he might never speak Dan’s name again, let alone make another stupid video like that.

And honestly, if Phil wore anything like he had at Dawn Light on the regular, Dan’s wardrobe might be enough to instill fear alone. Certainly people stepped out of Dan’s way on the streets, eyes glued to him and most outfits he went out in. Today, Dan’s crisp, high-collared jacket hugged his body, cropped to just below his ribs, and the dark red transparent shirt underneath was enough for eyes to widen and faces to redden to match the shade as he passed. Black ripped jeans and a pair of suede chukka boots were basic but finished off the look – a look for battle.

No, goddammit, Dan would not admit he’d dressed for the occasion today. He’d stick to it that this was simply an errand, over and done with – a brief session of threats, and it would all be over.

“We’re here, sir.”

Dan focused on his surroundings again, opening the door and looking around as the car sped away.

How...quaint. Phil certainly didn’t make much, did he? The small street lined with cheap-looking housing didn’t boast much. At least it wasn’t entirely run down. Peering at the slip of paper he held, Dan followed the address to a once-white (but now grey) building with an unassuming door and old intercom system.

It hadn’t been a great deal of trouble finding Phil Lester’s address.

Contacts were called, their contacts were called, and not even a half an hour later, Dan had it. Buzzing the flat, however, wasn’t half as easy. It took maybe a solid ten minutes of pressing the button until a quiet, hoarse voice on the crackling, garbled intercom asked, “Hello? Simon?”

Dan felt a surge of irritation. “No,” he snapped. “You’ve made me wait, so let me the fuck in.”

A pause of obvious confusion, wherein Phil seemed to be wondering if he should ask who it actually was, but in the end, a buzz and the sound of a door unlocking allowed Dan inside.

Phil’s flat was up near the top, and the building wasn’t graced with a lift, so Dan found himself climbing the disgusting stairs, wrinkling his nose at the dirt that seemed to permeate the entirety of the building.

The door slowly opened under his banging, a bespectacled, tired face peering through the crack, but as soon as Phil Lester saw who was glaring from the other side of the door, his eyes widened and he jumped to slam it shut again. Dan shoved back, throwing the door open with a _BANG_ and Phil backed into the wall, hands raised, looking panicked as Dan advanced on him.

“Are you trying to make a fool of me?” Dan asked in a low, threatening voice. “What the _hell_ was your stupid little video?”

“No,” whispered Phil, and behind his chunky nerdish glasses, Dan realised he had red rings and bags under his eyes, like he’d been up all night sobbing, and now he looked like he was about to cry some more.

Angry at himself that now he somehow felt sorry for Phil, Dan turned away, pacing, trying to rekindle the rage that had spurred him here. “I could ruin you with a five second phone call, but somehow, I’m now a fucking laughingstock because of you! Do you know how hard I’ve worked to get here and you tear it all down with a clumsy mistake and five minutes on camera? _Fix this!_ ”

He turned back and found Phil crumpled on the ground, head to his knees, shaking.

What the fuck was this?

“What the hell?”

“I’m s-sorry,” Phil shuddered. “I – I just...”

He was crying, and Dan was apparently responsible for this, and god, if he didn’t want to be a million miles away right now.

“Goddammit, what is it?” Dan huffed, tucking his hands under his arms.

Phil only started making more sniffling noises, and as he lifted his face, it was blotchy and red.

Dan didn’t know what to do. He always knew what to do, but he didn’t with this weird movie nerd who didn’t know how to dress himself, in a ball on the floor, crying his eyes out.

Awkwardly, he crouched in front of Phil. “Fine,” he muttered. “Just – ugh – the phone’s off your tab, whatever! Just calm down.”

“So much bad stuff has been happening,” Phil hiccupped. “I went through all this crap with Simon, and −”

Dan rocked back on his heels, jaw clenched. Ah, _Simon_.

Phil scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of a palm, his glasses hanging crookedly off his nose. “Now just isn’t −” he inhaled a shaky, tearful breath “− just isn’t a good time.”

“Lovers’ spat?” Dan tried to keep himself from spitting as he stood.

Phil followed the movement with his eyes in confusion. “No, I −”

“What is it, then? You break up?” Dan snorted.

“We were already broken up.” Phil was looking up at him reproachfully now, with his tear-streaked face. “Simon and I haven’t dated for a good couple years now, but we were friends, and then, he...”

Phil’s face screwed up again and he raised an arm to cover his eyes as they started streaming again. “He tried to make a move, and I didn’t want it, so we fought, and I don’t think he’s ever coming back and −”

Dan leaned against the wall, rubbing a hand through his hair. _Friends. Just friends._ God, he was an idiot.

“I’ll kick his ass,” he offered quietly.

Phil looked up at him in surprise. “Why? You hate me too.”

Dan folded his arms, chewing on his tongue. All the anger he’d felt towards Phil had drained away over the span of his little breakdown. It was too hard to hold onto when those pitiably puffy eyes had been gazing up at him so despairingly. “’S fine,” he muttered. “I treated you like shit anyway.”

Phil laughed a shaky little laugh, wiping his face. “Yeah,” he murmured.

Dan rolled his eyes and held out a hand to help him up. “Only I get to rag on myself, mind.”

With Phil on his feet, Dan was able to fully appraise him. His hair was a mess, the poorly made T-shirt with a space pattern was some cheap strip mall purchase, he wasn’t wearing shoes and –

“Nice boxers,” Dan snickered.

Phil looked down at the cat-face-patterned pants and turned red. “I’ll, I’ll, uh – I’m in my −”

He dashed for the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Deafening silence returned to the place in the absence of his and Dan’s voices.

In the quiet, Dan surveyed the place. Maybe he’d been a little harsh earlier about the state of Phil’s housing. His flat, at least, looked relatively nice. There wasn’t grime everywhere, and Dan could see Phil’s quirky taste in the decor. Movie posters seemed to be plastered over every available inch of wall, and a relatively large TV sat in the living room. A couple tripods and different lights stood in varying states of disrepair around the room, and odd knick-knacks were scattered across the coffee table.

Dan stepped closer to the table to examine an antique looking camera that sat in the center. He wouldn’t have pegged Phil as the vintage type, but this wasn’t just a few years old, and it wasn’t badly looked after.

Drifting into the kitchen as he appraised more walls full of posters, he continued – whatever it was he was doing. He wasn’t snooping. He was just...

He was making tea, that was what he was doing. That was what you did for people who were feeling bad, right? Dan seized the kettle that sat on the counter and started filling it with water.

It wasn’t an excuse, definitely not.

He’d just finished pouring milk into the two cups of tea he’d laboured over when he heard a door open and the padding of feet. Phil – now in jeans, with a still slightly red washed face, and hair that he appeared to have attempted to wrangle into a style with a straightener – peered into the kitchen.

“Tea? Oh. Thanks,” he murmured as Dan shoved the cup at him wordlessly. He took a sip and choked slightly, turning away.

“G-good!” he assured Dan as he grabbed for the sugar, heaping it into the cup. Dan scowled and drank, holding back his own grimace at the taste and gulping the burning liquid all down as Phil played with his cup, waiting for it to cool.

“So.” Dan broke the silence and the purposeful avoidance of his eyes. “Shitty day.”

“Yeah.” Phil tried to sip to occupy himself, but apparently, it was still scalding. He juggled it between his hands, wincing.

“Want to...talk?”

Now he was back to this? Fuck, how did you _people_? Dan felt like a kid in a business meeting. He knew his peers, he knew how to impress them, but outside the glitz and glamour world, he might as well be chewing on a pacifier. Emotions weren’t thrown around in his profession, it was all about appearance, not whatever you had going on underneath. Dan couldn’t do this.

Phil seemed to think the same, laughing quietly. “With _you_?”

Well, that stung a little.

* * *

 

Phil looked up just in time to watch Dan turn away, face hidden. “I mean, it’s fine, I guess.”

It was just so...weird. He’d come in swinging, ready to kill Phil, just like the last time they’d met, but now, suddenly, Dan Howell was here in Phil’s kitchen, making him bad tea and asking if he wanted to talk about things? And in that outfit, like he just wore things like this _casually_?

Phil had to admit he’d snuck a few glances at the pleasantly easy to see abs through Dan’s shirt, but –

“I’ll just go, then.”

“Wait,” Phil blurted. But wait for what? For Phil to sort through all these weird clouds of emotion to find the one he actually felt in this oddly comfortable scene?

Dan was now staring at him, waiting, like Phil had asked. His hands were wrapped around Phil’s chipped old Disney mug, dwarfing it − the one his grandmother had bought him on the tour of Disney Studios when he was eight, and she had turned out to have eight days left. Dan’s fingers were graceful on the yellowing porcelain, even subconsciously a model to his midnight black nails.

Phil swallowed as Dan leaned down to his eye line, eyebrows raised. Right. Why was it a shitty day? His best friend had dumped him because he had wanted something Phil couldn’t give him.

“I guess...I guess I just thought I knew him,” Phil said hoarsely. “Simon. I thought we were good. He’s mostly all I’ve got.”

He could have slapped himself at the break in his voice, he sounded so pitiful.

Dan’s lips parted, but he didn’t say anything, just watching Phil now, his face unreadable.

“That probably sounds really pathetic.” Phil pressed his own lips together. “I don’t know how to make many friends. They’ve all kind of drifted off, except −” he inhaled, because he didn’t want this lump in his throat again, he’d cried enough “− except for him.”

“Come on.” Dan had suddenly grabbed ahold of his wrist, turning toward the door, and beginning to tug Phil along.

“What?”

“We’re going to go.”

“But where? Why?”

Dan turned back, rolling his eyes. “Because yeah, you do sound pathetic. So I’m going to be your new best friend tonight.”


	4. Nothing, Really

“Here you go.”

Phil watched Dan’s nose wrinkle at the giant, greasy-looking plate of fish and chips the waiter had set down in front of Phil. “That looks absolutely disgusting.”

Phil, on the other hand, thought that the wilted-looking salad Dan had ordered didn’t look so great either. “Well, at least I don’t have your food,” he grinned.

“I’d rather put this in my body than that gross fried mess,” Dan snorted, stabbing a limp leaf with his fork.

Phil laughed. “Is that how you get abs, then?” He didn’t realise he’d said it aloud until he noticed Dan staring at him over another sad looking green bite.

Phil choked on potato. “What? I mean, um −”

“Been eyeing me up, have you?” Dan grinned, swirling strips of carrot around on his plate.

“ _No_. I just. You’re wearing that shirt.”

“Yeah, I am. But you didn’t have to _look_.”

“Well −” It was too hot in here, Phil was having trouble keeping his face cool –

“Excuse me, are you Dan Howell?”

Phil, startled, turned to look at the teenage girl that had approached their table cautiously. Her knees were shaking, but excitement shone in her eyes as she chewed on her lip, staring at Dan. Behind her, a table of her friends were plainly watching Dan anxiously as well.

Phil turned in time to see a flash of irritation cross Dan’s face, but it was gone so quickly Phil wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. Dan was now smiling, his tone smooth. “I am. And you might be...?”

“Susan,” she giggled, and Phil realised she’d slid a napkin and pen across the table to Dan, who was already signing it, movements sharp and practiced. “Oh, god, can I get a picture with you?”

“Me too!” piped up one of her friends, now approaching the table, trailing a small posse. “I’m on your blog, like, every day!”

Dan’s smile – Phil thought it looked a little cold − was still there as he stood and phones came out. “Afraid I’ll only have time for one picture tonight, sorry.”

The girls cast disdainful looks Phil’s way, as though the fact that Dan wouldn’t have more time was entirely his fault. Most returned to smiling at the camera as they took a selfie, but Susan did a double take of Phil, eyes slowly widening in recognition. “Isn’t that...Phil Lester?”

Phil felt himself freeze in shock. What? How did she...

Susan’s friends turned again, glancing back at Phil and looking at each other. “Don’t you hate each other or something?” one girl asked.

Phil swallowed, looking helplessly at Dan, whose cryptic closed expression revealed nothing as he reached into his pocket and tossed some bills onto the table.

“We have to go now,” Dan said coolly to the small crowd, all of whom seemed to be trying to conjure up every possible reason Dan and Phil would have dinner together.

Phil felt himself pulled unceremoniously from the restaurant as too many pairs of curious, suspicious eyes followed them all the way out the door.

***

“Hey, um...”

Dan had been dragging Phil down the darkening pavement for a good ten minutes now. Shops they were passing were starting to close, and lamps were beginning to be the only lighting that illuminated the street.

Dan didn’t seem to hear him.

It felt all too much like the night of the premiere. Phil felt a prickle of irritation.

“Dan!”

Dan finally stopped, face turned away. Phil didn’t exercise much, and took the opportunity to attempt to pull his arm from Dan’s grasp and take a breather, but Dan didn’t let go. He also didn’t seem to be breathing any harder than usual, Phil noted with another surge of annoyance. Another part of his perfect model lifestyle, he supposed.

“Uh, Dan −”

“They’re _everywhere_.” Dan’s fingers finally loosened enough for Phil to retrieve his arm.

“Fans? Yeah, doesn’t that come with signing up for fame?” If this was what it entailed, Phil wasn’t sure his first taste of fame was all that appealing. He massaged his arm where circulation felt like it had been cut off by Dan’s grip.

Dan didn’t laugh, didn’t even acknowledge his comment, still turned away, voice low. “And the _one time_ when I’m −”

A chirpy ringtone Phil didn’t recognise sounded, and Dan’s jaw tightened. Phil tried to hold back a laugh at its bounce, the opposite of Dan’s (usually) dignified demeanor. “Is that you? I thought your phone was broken.”

“It’s temporary,” Dan growled, pulling out a battered old phone from his pocket. “My manager lent her old one to me. Hello? What is it?”

Phil watched as Dan started to pace, shoving his hand into his pocket as the other voice on the phone spoke unintelligibly.

“Yeah, all right, Jade. I’m busy right now. It isn’t the time – what? Excuse me, I’m always at parties with you, all right? Sometimes I just like a night in, that’s all −”

He stilled. “I am _not_ , Jade. Shut the hell up. Fine. Fine, I’ll come. God.” He hung up angrily.

“I have to go,” he muttered.

“Oh. Oh, all right.” Phil stuffed his own hands into his pockets awkwardly. “I’ll, uh, yeah. See you...later.” Maybe. Would he? Would they? What even was this thing going on between them? Phil had no idea –

“Yeah.” Dan’s eyes slid up to his, interrupting Phil’s inner turmoil, and handed the phone to Phil, a new contact open and waiting. Curiously pleasant butterflies fluttered to life in Phil’s stomach as he typed in his number, and Dan caught his eyes again and started to turn away. “Yeah, you will. See you.”

“Thanks. For all the...everything,” Phil called hastily. Dan turned back to him, a faint smile crinkling his eyes. “Yeah. It’s to make up for me being a ‘giant asshole,’ you know?”

Phil chuckled and watched Dan wave goodbye, idly wondering what exactly this warm, bubbly feeling that seemed to be spreading throughout his body was.

* * *

 

The party that Jade had insisted Dan join her at was hopping, but Dan didn’t feel the usual rush of arriving and being greeted by all the friends, acquaintances, and so many people that he didn’t even know. He felt oddly empty, weirdly angry still – like how he’d felt ever since those girls had interrupted his and Phil’s conversation. There was something about Phil that made Dan want to know more, to be able to understand why he was the way he was, and something that made Dan want to punch Simon into next week. Never mind that Dan had also treated Phil like shit. Simon, Simon was Phil’s friend, he was something else, and he’d just −

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!” Jade caught his arm, cutting off his thoughts, sloshing some drink or another that she carried onto his sleeve. He grimaced and wiped it off.

“Jade,” he returned, not half as enthusiastically as when she’d uttered his name. She noticed, eyebrows drawing together.

“Daaaan, what’s up? You’re always up for a party, but you didn’t even want to come, and now you’re grumpy? You _were_ on a date, weren’t you? Like I thought! You lying little bastard!” She shoved him playfully, but nearly missed his shoulder with her current depth perception.

Gently, he steadied her. “No, I was just...” He hesitated. He could just tell her what he’d been doing, but...

Jade was looking at him, eyebrows raised. Dan squared his shoulders and forced a smile at her. “I was just...enjoying some time alone, for once. That’s all. Nothing, really. Come on, let’s do this.”

_Nothing, really. Nothing important. It wasn’t important, he wasn’t tired, he wouldn’t give almost anything to be back in that little shop, sharing a table with somebody a week ago he’d have thought too ordinary and boring to consider having an actual conversation with, let alone..._

Dan thought about the new contact saved into the phone, as sweating bodies pressed in on him on all sides, and people tried to catch his eyes and dance with him. It was all about appearance, about surface, he had to stop thinking.

It was nothing, really.

***

Dan exhaled, letting his body unwind, just beginning to feel the delicious curl of heat sinking into his skin, but this was no exception to the rule that his quiet moments never lasted long. A shriek and jump nearly startled him into falling backward into the deep water.

Dan hadn’t been thinking for maybe two weeks now, two weeks of work, and work, and work, solid. Sleeping for more than a few hours had been a luxury, food was provided when absolutely necessary, and his borrowed phone had been returned to his owner. He’d dropped it into Isabelle’s hand and turned away, heart twinging. He’d been a breath away from letting her toss it into her bag, take it away when he’d reached and snatched it back, muttering that he’d forgotten that he had to transfer some things to his new phone.

So maybe he’d thought, for a few moments. But he hadn’t since, and he wasn’t going to. He was going to forget the number he’d saved, and return to his world. He knew this world, he was comfortable here.

“You’re a dick, Daniel!” Jade shoved her phone screen in Dan’s face, taking no care that when she’d whirled on him, she’d sent the boat into a violent rocking and Dan halfway to a heart attack. He’d been about to finish a blog post on scarves on his new phone as they sunned themselves on the back of Jade’s motorboat, on a brief but well-deserved holiday after such action packed weeks of work for both of them.

Now Dan pulled back to read the headline of the article she had pulled up, registering dimly that Jade actually seemed a little pissed.

_Dan and Phil_ _– Fashion Blogger and Tiny Vlogger Start To Patch It Up?_

The picture below the title made Dan’s carefully constructed wall against the thoughts that had been plaguing him at the party shudder and crack. It was from their dinner, the perfect angle to capture a sweet grin on Phil’s face. It looked as though they were leaning in to each other across the table.

“I’ll never trust you again. That night at the party when you were all weird, you’d just come from having dinner with him!” Jade glared. “You couldn’t even tell me? Some best friend you are!”

“No, all right, he was having a horrible day and then I came in and shouted at him, so I told him I’d forget about it and bought him dinner. Okay?”

Jade’s eyes were narrow above her sunglasses. “Yeah, well, it looks an awful lot like a romantic – if cheap – date to me.”

“He wanted to go there – wait, excuse me?” Dan’s mouth dropped open and he prepared to make a very heated reply when her eyes suddenly popped open and she sat up, screeching, anger apparently completely forgotten.

“ _Oh my god_ , Dan! I just had the most _brilliant_ idea!”

Dan winced. “What is it now?”

“Dan, Dan, Dan, they’re still dragging your name through the mud, aren’t they? I mean, this article was published back on the day after your weird date thing, but this angle isn’t big news. I’ve only seen this one article about it, but I’m still seeing plenty of people trash-talking you.”

“Yeah?” said Dan warily, sitting up as well.

“All right, so, you can use this!” She squeezed his arm excitedly. “This Philip Lester? You’ve charmed him, look at that picture! He looks like he’s half in love with you now!”

“What?” Dan choked.

“Dan.” A giant, delighted, devilish smile was curling across Jade’s face as she took Dan’s face between her hands. “We’ll set a day, I’m going to gather all the media coverage I can find, and you’re going to go on a veeeeery intimate date with Phil Lester.”

***

“Not a bad idea, actually, Jade.” Isabelle nodded, a distinctly approving managerial expression on her face. “We can’t let people screw us over. If they use us, we’ll use them right back.”

It was two days later, and Dan should have known better than to think that Jade would drop it.

“Phil _didn’t_ use me!” Dan exclaimed. “I told you already. _I_ did shittier things to him than he ever did to me. I’m letting it be, okay?”

His best friend and his manager both glared at him, unimpressed.

“He’s absolutely ruined your good name with a publicity stunt to make himself look better,” snapped Isabelle. “I fail to see how you’ve been more cruel.”

“Well −”

“Okay, Dan, I’m going to need you turned a little to the right for the lighting,” Dan’s photographer shouted from his setup.

“I’m not doing it!” Dan called as he leaned against the graffitied wall and draped the thin green overshirt he carried over a shoulder. “I’m done with it all.”

“No talking, please!”

Dan hissed out a sigh and adjusted himself.

Several hours and a few wardrobe and location changes later, Dan’s spring looks shoot was almost finished. Well, he had to approve the pictures and write a good long paragraph about each outfit, but he was almost finished with this shoot – and very finished with just how much whispering was going on between his two companions on the sidelines.

Dan’s eyes flickered once more to Jade and Isabelle, heads back together once more, murmuring to each other. _Still_. He was fed up with this.

“What are you doing?” he barked, pushing the loose, styled curls from his face.

“Dan!” yelled the photographer in exasperation. “Mate, we’re so close. Just a few final shots of this!”

Dan waved him off and stormed toward the two women. Their whispers cut off as he approached.

“ _What are you doing?_ ”

“Just finalising all the details for your date.” Jade smiled innocently at him.

“That’s great,” Dan growled. “Except I’m not going.”

But Isabelle looked apprehensive now. “Dan. You’ve been busy, you haven’t seen...I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want you to know.”

Dan didn’t like her expression, it was unsettling. “What? Spit it out.”

Isabelle took a deep breath. “Everyone’s been calling me. You’re being cancelled left and right since the little video incident. Apparently, people have complained to places that have run photos of you. The articles about you are dying down, but they’re running pieces on Phil Lester all over. They’re telling his side, _only_ his side, and in it, you look _bad_.”

Now solemn as well, Jade held up her phone. #Danisaprick was still going strong on Twitter, and Dan’s heart stuttered as the number of blue check marks beside names, names he knew, people he’d worked with, considered friends, even.

His eyes caught on a picture someone had posted of a burning magazine, flames licking his face on the front cover as it shriveled to ashes.

“I...”

“Think about it, Dan.” Jade pulled down the phone and looked at him worriedly.

“We’re done here,” Isabelle called to the photographer. “It’s enough.”

The guy rolled his eyes and started packing up his equipment as Isabelle hustled Dan towards his car and inside, giving him one last anxious look before closing the door after him.

As the car sped out of the parking lot, Dan found himself where he hadn’t dared to go since Dawn Light – gossip sites, reading articles about himself.

They really were brutal, these reporters. Dan could only skim a few before he chickened out and went to an article about Phil instead.

“YouTube personality Philip Lester has been blowing up since his scuffle with the famous Dan Howell, fashion guru and now infamous for the event that has seemingly rocketed Phil to stardom. Phil’s channel, where he reviews movies and creates his own projects, has achieved more than half his previous subscriber count in a matter of a few weeks...”

Dan sighed, skimming once more. At least some good had come out of the whole event, even if Dan himself was left high and dry.

He stopped on a picture embedded in the article of Phil and a girl, who was taking a selfie with him. Phil was smiling awkwardly, obviously unused to the attention – this had happened recently, he hadn’t been known until now.

Only there was somebody else in the picture, sitting at Phil’s two person table in the background, smiling fondly at Phil’s back.

Dan stared for a moment, feeling his stomach drop. He locked the phone and sat for a few more moments, then turned it on again. It wasn’t an old picture. Yet there he’d been.

With shaking hands, he called Isabelle. She answered on the first ring.

“Fine,” he whispered. “I’ll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm late i'm sorry this had to be fixed a lot but now it's not as terrible so there you go


	5. Shameless

Phil sighed happily, curled up on his couch with popcorn and Spirited Away. But the cold feet propped against his legs were ruining his good mood.

He kicked at them and sighed as the television panned across the vast expanse of grass and the first glimpse of the magical theme park. “How long are you going to stay here?”

“As long as it takes.”

“As long as what takes? I never said you could crash on my couch, much less for a week!”

Simon tangled his feet with Phil’s, a tiny smile on his face. “Until you’ve completely forgiven me.”

***

It had taken Simon three days to show up. Phil had just summoned enough courage to go outside again after the weird dinner with Dan Howell. Intending to visit the grocery store, he had taken three steps outside his door, and Simon had blocked his path.

Phil had very nearly jumped out of his skin, and opened his mouth to say something to Simon when he snapped it shut again. He wouldn’t say anything. He wouldn’t speak to Simon at all.

He stepped around his best friend, who was looking at him cautiously. “Wait, Phil!”

He kept walking.

“Phil. God, wait.” As he ran to catch up, Simon’s hand hovered over Phil’s own. Phil snapped his hand away, keeping his mouth tightly shut.

“Phil.” Simon stepped in front of him again, hands held up. “Phil, I’m sorry.”

 _Yeah. You should be._ Phil narrowed his eyes.

“Listen, listen, I was...I acted rashly. And badly, too,” he added hastily as Phil’s glare hardened, and his gaze dropped to the ground. “I just...you’re my best friend, and I had a – well, I shouldn’t have said it then, and I’m...” His eyes flicked up to Phil’s. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah?” Phil’s voice sounded rusty. He shook off Simon’s grip. “I don’t know if I can forgive you, though.”

The rudeness of a random stranger at a movie premiere had been one thing to forgive, but Simon...Simon had known where to hit him hardest, and it had _hurt_. And had he even apologised for that? What he’d said?

Simon looked away awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I have to go.” Phil crossed his arms in the silence, ready to leave this behind.

“I’ll come with you.”

Phil stared incredulously at him. “What?”

“You don’t have to talk to me. I’ll just come with you.”

“What part of ‘not forgiven’ do you not get?”

Simon nodded, an unsure smile nonetheless creeping across his face. “Yeah, I know.”

Phil shook his head and started down the street – and footsteps echoing his followed, chafing in the corner of his mind. By the time he’d gotten to checkout after he’d gathered his groceries, he was about ready to strangle his second shadow.

But when he’d swiped his card and turned to reach down for his bags, he found they were already gone. Phil turned to Simon, who had scooped them up and now smiled at him.

Phil folded his arms after a moment. “Is this your game? Follow me around and carry groceries and it’ll all be okay again?”

“Well, not _just_ that.” Simon grinned wider, a ghost of his old shamelessness flitting through his eyes.

Phil growled, throwing up his hands and turning away, Simon’s footsteps still trailing his all the way back to his flat.

***

And after Simon had gotten into his flat, it was all over. He slept on Phil’s couch every night. Every morning, Phil woke to a plate of breakfast next to his bed. Simon only left for work in the afternoons, but not before making lunch for Phil.

Thankfully, Phil could usually escape at dinner time, trying to ignore Simon and not feel guilty for (albeit very grudgingly) accepting all the things he gave Phil. The last straw was when he was finally able to ditch Simon for half the day on one of Simon’s days off and came home to find the whole flat cleaned top to bottom.

Phil had closed the door, staring around at the spotless carpet and neatened rooms. His eyes caught the plate of appetising looking sandwiches lying on the kitchen counter, and he slid down the door to sit on the floor, massaging his forehead.

“Simon,” he called.

Simon’s head popped out of the bathroom, cleaning supplies in hand. His eyes were wide, their slight glimmer of hope betraying him. “Yeah?”

“We’ll go out for dinner tonight.”

“Together?” Simon stepped out of the room fully, nervously licking his lips.

Phil nodded wearily. “Together.” He had to repay this somehow, or he’d feel terrible.

Phil didn’t know their dinner would lead to recognition from fellow patrons of the restaurant that kept up with popular gossip magazines, or that one of the girls taking a picture with him would post the picture online, where it would be picked up by a reporter, who would publish an article along with the picture that Dan Howell would find. Phil didn’t realise that when he’d told Simon he would be taking him out for dinner, Simon would spend the rest of the night hiding his smile, except when the camera clicked, with Phil’s back turned, he ceased hiding it.

***

Over a full week of Simon living with him later, Phil still couldn’t get rid of him.

But Simon was right – Phil might be beginning to forgive him, after all this. There was still a cool tension on his part, and sometimes, he caught himself noticing more than he had ever before just how oddly Simon interacted with him – how he laughed flirtatiously at Phil’s occasional jokes, his borderline bedroom eyes sometimes when he’d look at Phil, and how often Simon’s gaze seemed to flick to his lips.

But Phil had also felt the strain of being without Simon for those three days of absence. They’d been close since they were small, without much time apart, and Phil wanted to brush any issues off if it meant they might be able to rekindle their friendship. So long as this was as far as it went, he felt like he owed Simon this much. Simon had always done nice things for him. Phil needed to let some things slide.

Now, subconsciously, Phil turned to lean back against Simon, letting his legs hang over the side of the couch, so that Simon’s cold feet weren’t digging into him anymore. Chihiro approached the bathhouse as Simon absently draped his arm around Phil, stroking his hair. Phil stiffened, realising what he’d done, and what Simon had done, and the fingers in his hair stopped.

“Friends?” Phil questioned in a whisper.

“Yeah.”

 _This is fine. I’m fine._ Phil took a breath and exhaled, sinking back against Simon, relaxing now. And it felt normal. Normal enough that, after a while of trying and failing to keep his eyes open and on the screen, Phil was just starting to feel warm and sleepy against Simon’s shoulder when his ringtone cut the silence. He jumped and scrambled for it as Simon peered over his shoulder.

Phil almost didn’t answer the unknown number – he never got calls – but he picked up as Simon reached to pause the movie.

“H-hello?”

“Hey.”

Phil’s body jerked in surprise and he sat up straight at the voice on the other end. He didn’t really know much phone etiquette, but two weeks seemed long enough to accept that a call wouldn’t come. Yet here he was.

Phil found himself straightening his hair as his voice shook nervously, a stark comparison to his sure conversation partner’s voice. “Oh, it’s you. Oh, hi.”

Dan Howell cleared his throat on the other end of the phone. “Hey, um, listen. Are you free Friday night?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Who is it?” Simon whispered in his ear, and Phil squirmed away.

“I’ll tell you later,” he murmured back.

“Well, I was thinking we could go out.”

“Go out?” Phil’s voice squeaked. “Like...on a...”

Dan’s pause seemed uncomfortable, but he had started to say something when Simon interrupted.

“Phil.” He was too close. Phil jumped up, pacing away, but too late.

Dan inhaled sharply. “Phil, who’s that?”

Anxiety clamped on his stomach as Phil reasoned that telling either he was talking to the other would result in anger from both parties. He’d just started figuring things out with Simon, and Simon didn’t know he’d bonded with the asshole at the premiere in their fight aftermath. Dan, on the other hand, had witnessed the mess Phil was after that fight. And Phil knew instinctively that Dan wouldn’t be happy about Simon waltzing his way back in. So he cleared his throat and lied as convincingly as he could –

Which was to say, in an extremely strained voice, with no excuses whatsoever, words tumbling over one another, to the phone, to Simon, to everyone about to get very, very pissed at him.

“What? What? It’s no one. He’s no one.”

“Is that Simon?” Dan’s voice was audible in its perceptive bite.

Simon stood, too, following Phil, his eyes narrowing. “Why does that guy know who I am, but I have no idea who he is, Phil?”

Dan’s tone was cold in Phil’s ear, as Phil felt everything crumbling around him. “I’ll meet you at the fountain downtown at five. Dress in something that isn’t hideous. Goodbye.”

He hung up, leaving Phil with a blank dial tone and a glaring Simon.

“So. Who the hell was that?”

***

“Whatever, Phil. Hang out with whoever you want. But _Dan Howell_?” Simon’s tone was bitter the whole way through, but in particular, he didn’t seem able to let the fact that it had been _Dan Howell_ on the phone go.

Phil dug his fingers into his scalp. He’d been right, Dan wasn’t happy he was with Simon, and Simon wasn’t happy he’d been with Dan. It all felt like a mess.

“Why? Why could you.... _how_ did that even come to pass? He was a jerk to you!”

At least he’d managed to keep the fact that he’d become friends with Dan because of Simon’s leaving, because this would be so much worse. Phil kneaded his temples. “So were you.”

It slipped out before he could think about it, and there it was – both of them felt the temperature drop because the forgiveness still wasn’t there.

Simon drew back, and Phil braced himself for more yelling, because this felt oddly more like a jealous lover’s spat than it should, but instead, Simon’s jaw clamped shut, and he folded his arms.

“Fine,” he said finally, his face a mask, but not quite hiding a stormy scowl. “I guess I’ll be here when your outing goes to crap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow you know when you read really good fic writers' writing and you realize how terrible you are and you start to fall into a pit of self-hatred toward your writing so you can't update anymore  
> i'm bad and terrible and shitty sorry i'll try to update on the weekends peeps who tf knows if it'll work because i am an anxious depressed mess and also I hate this chapter too but i promise i do have better things happening soon i have some stuff coming up that won't be short annoying chapters delivered late i love you i'm sorry  
> (also I'll try to have the next chapter up early to make up for this terrible thing)


	6. A Date?

Dan felt sick and angry. He’d been mad when he’d seen the picture of those two in the article. It had drained away to a faint nausea when the phone had started ringing Phil’s number.

But after he’d heard Simon’s voice, Phil’s distracted panic and lies even as he almost asked if they were going on a date, the anger had rushed back in full force, and now, a combination of the two kept him digging his nails into the palms of his hands, trying not to shake. He knew what was about to happen, and it only contributed to the constant churning of his stomach.

He sat on the rim of the fountain, their planned meeting place, keenly aware of all the eyes and camera lenses watching him from the bushes, knowing more awaited them at every location that Isabelle and Jade had planned for Dan to bring Phil tonight and then carefully “leaked” to the press. There was still enough light in the sky that they could stay hidden, there was no need for flashes. And Phil was coming here, to be unknowingly used as a prop in the game of fame and popularity and stardom. Dan was going to use him.

Isabelle had patted him on the back as she’d left him sitting there, and Jade had stroked his arm comfortingly, probably because he looked as if he were about to vomit all over her.

Because of Simon, Dan reminded himself. Because Phil was making a mistake, he couldn’t believe he’d just turn around and welcome someone who’d treated him so badly back into his life. Dan had never seen someone crying like that before, someone so utterly hurt...

 _Why the cameras in the bushes, then?_ hissed a sour little voice in his head. _You’ll hurt him, too, hypocrite._

No, he had to talk to Phil, he’d decided that much. And it was too late for the cameras to be called off. He and Phil were friends, so what? He was going to talk to him, they’d go through the paces of their outing, if they were photographed, _so fucking what_? It wasn’t verbalised between them that this was any romantic gesture, it wasn’t as if he’d dangled some carrot in front of Phil that he didn’t intend to give to him.

He glared at the ground. He needed to tell Phil that Simon didn’t deserve a second chance, that was all.

_You got one. They were best friends, meanwhile, you were a stranger who fucked with him because you thought you could do whatever you wanted. And here you are, doing it again, for your own gain. Comparing yourself to Simon? Simon never sank so low as you have._

Maybe they wouldn’t take the pictures at all! If Dan didn’t give them any juicy moments that they were expecting, they wouldn’t have anything to goddamn report on. He’d be casual, curt even, providing no real material to photograph, and then they couldn’t take pictures of anything.

_You know they will. At least he won’t ever care enough about you to cry as hard as he did with his ass of a best friend._

Dan was halfway through strangling his right hand with his left in response to these nasty whispers when he was interrupted.

“Dan?” 

* * *

 

Phil watched Dan jump, his brown eyes darting up from their occupation of scowling into space to meet Phil’s. He stood, jaw tight, as his gaze instantly flitted away. Phil watched his arms fold and swallowed, because Dan seemed even more pissed off than usual, and the last time Phil had gotten off easy had been a fluke − Phil wasn’t sure how exactly to successfully calm an angry Dan down.

“Hey.” Dan started around the fountain, away from Phil. A curious clicking noise started.

“What? What was that −” Phil started to turn to search for the source of the noise, but suddenly Dan was back in front of him, lacing fingers through his, and Phil blinked down and their intertwined hands, his heart stuttering slightly.

“Dan? What −”

Dan’s eyes flashed up to his again, silencing him. They looked half-desperate now, silently begging for Phil just _not to ask_.

“Let’s go.” Dan still sounded off, only now he seemed to be wordlessly pleading for Phil to simply go along without questions. But Phil was feeling more and more confused. Dan seemed to be dressed to the nines (while Phil had thrown on a blue button up and some skinny jeans, which he was becoming increasingly self-conscious about), was holding Phil’s hand but looking at him like he had a knife to his throat, and almost seemed to have planned a...well, a...

“All right,” Phil said slowly. “Where are we going, then?”

“You’ll see.”

***

When the door of the giant, posh car closed behind them, Dan’s shoulders slumped as he fell back against the upholstery, like all the anger he’d been radiating had simply dropped out of him. Phil stared at him.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Dan inhaled shakily, an entirely different man from the night at the premiere, and a complete stranger from the person who’d helped him the night after Simon’s abandonment. He looked pale and small, like a child, nothing like his usual persona, and Phil felt a sudden, strong urge to comfort him. He looked too young for the elegant suit he wore, and fingers bearing rings and blood red polish were drumming nervously on his leg.

“Hey, are you all right?” Phil slipped his fingers around Dan’s forearm, unsure if this was forbidden territory, if they were on this physically friendly level yet. Dan started at the contact, and he went from staring at the floor to searching Phil’s face for a good minute before he opened his mouth.

“Listen, Phil, we should talk about −”

“We’re here.”

The driver had pulled to a halt and Dan’s mouth hardened, his eyes dropping to Phil’s hand, still wrapped around his arm comfortingly. He yanked out of Phil’s grasp as the door opened and got out, leaving Phil more confused than ever.

“Dan −” Phil followed him out, but there was that clicking sound again, and he was just standing up straight to look when –

“C’mon.” Dan had grabbed his arm, pulling Phil after him into a brightly lit shop.

Phil blinked at the tuxedoed mannequin standing in front of him. Other suited, headless bodies stood in various poses around the shop, and Phil took a step back in reverence. This wasn’t some cheap place, this was the real deal, where the pound signs on the prices tags were followed by too many zeros for him to dream of even setting eyes on them.

Dan tugged on his hand again, turning to look impatiently at him. As the door closed behind Phil, again, Dan’s shoulders relaxed visibly.

“What are we doing here?” Phil finally managed to ask.

Dan let go, folding his arms. “Getting you something suitable for where we’re going.”

Phil didn’t have time to protest that his bank account couldn’t safely manage something like this if he saved for a million years – the well-dressed man behind the shop’s counter had somehow crept up behind him and was now dragging him back into a curtained changing room, complete with full-length, mirrored walls and velvet lounge.

Phil was stripped to his underwear in a matter of minutes, and as he stood, arms wrapped self-consciously around himself, trying to avoid his inescapable, full-body reflection while he shivered, the shop assistant measured, not seeming to notice just how uncomfortable Phil was.

Not only was his as-good-as-penniless self nowhere near rich enough for this place, Phil had eaten one too many crisp packets in his time on Earth, and barely spent any time working them off. The people that this man usually measured could probably at the very least count every faint ab, they had enough money to invest in their health. He doubted they ever had to cross their unimpressive arms over a too-soft stomach, feeling ugly anxiety whirling inside at each flash of themselves in the mirror.

Then Phil was left alone for however many minutes, to pick the ceiling or the floor to focus on, the only non-reflective surfaces in the room, before the onslaught of formal clothing began.

He emerged from the changing room in a suit he couldn’t really tell from the others. It seemed to fit, at least, but as he stepped past the curtain, feeling like he matched the gawky, awkward giraffes on some of his socks in these stiff, overly formal clothes, he didn’t exactly expect Dan to turn from his examination of a dark red suit on a mannequin and give him much more than a polite smile in response to his new attire. But when Dan turned, for the first time that night, his lips parted, his eyes widened, and instead of avoiding Phil’s gaze, or beseechingly meeting it, Dan was staring at him like he’d never seen him before.

And...blushing?

“Sir?” The shop assistant was back behind the counter, waiting to ring up. Dan distractedly turned toward him, a faint red still dusting his cheeks as he seemed to tear his eyes away from Phil.

Phil, too, had to take a moment to shake off whatever _that_ had been, but the urgency of the matter caught up to him as Dan approached the counter.

“Dan! I can’t afford this!” he hissed.

Dan waved him away, and Phil gaped as Dan reached into his pocket for his wallet. “Good thing I can afford everything we’re doing tonight.”

It was back out the door and into the car before Phil could ask what or why, and Dan’s incessant babble between the doors of the shop and the car _almost_ drowned out the clicking.

“Come on, we have to go now, let’s −”

The door closed behind them, and Dan’s voice cut off. He dropped into a seat and rubbed his face.

Phil opened his mouth to question anything, _everything_ about this whole night, comprising of the oddest behavior he’d ever seen, but Dan held up a hand.

“Not now.”

So, head spinning – but giant bill that Dan had just undeniably paid for still in his hand – Phil held his tongue through the ride, out of the car, and up the steps to a magnificent restaurant with a line of patrons out the door. Dan led him past the queue as everyone turned to look at them, stare and whisper amongst themselves, and inside, into a grand interior where everything seemed to be edged with gold and the many waiters were dressed just as fancily as those sitting around the ivory silk covered tables. As Dan stepped up to the front of the line, Phil in tow, the woman standing behind the table upon which a reservation book lay merely looked at him, glanced down at the book, and beckoned them onward.

Phil fidgeted and chewed on his lip as his eyes swept over the elegant people seated around the restaurant. Sure, he had the costume, but the clientele at this place seemed to have been born and raised in this luxurious lifestyle. He felt like a barnyard animal at the circus, and it was only a matter of time before someone realised and threw him out. He glanced over at Dan – who, admittedly, was wearing more makeup than most of the men in the establishment, but if anything, he was a striking peacock in a sea of grey-skinned elephants and dull-furred tigers. Another circus animal, one that stood out from the crowd, accompanying Phil the boring, useless sheep.

Phil’s heartrate only heightened as the woman stopped next to a table smack dab in the midst of it all, the impressive spectacle going on all around, where everyone knew the social norms but him. But Dan was leaning in to her ear, whispering something, and the side of her mouth quirked in a mildly irritated way. She sighed as Dan straightened and gestured for them to follow her once again, toward the back of the space, where more private alcoves were hidden from the view of the rest of the floor. She left them at a tiny table in the corner, shielded by an elegant golden wall of lattice and tiny candles, with carefully pruned creeping vines winding in and out of the gaps.

Dan sat, and Phil sat. There was a silence as Phil stared at Dan, and Dan stared at the tablecloth, until he seemed to realise a menu sat in the center of the table, which he immediately snatched to block Phil’s view of him.

“Dan.”

“You work your way in, with the silverware.” Dan remained hidden in his menu.

“Dan, please.” Phil’s voice was quiet.

Dan let the menu drop, and they looked at each other.

Phil waited.

“Why are you back with Simon?”

 _Not_ what he’d expected. “Wait, what?”

Dan sighed, rubbing his jaw. “The last I heard, he was treating you like shit and now you’re out on da −”

He choked to a stop, pressing his lips together. Phil noticed again he was turning red.

“ ‘Dates’?” he questioned, and Dan looked away. “We haven’t been on any dates! He’s just been bunking around my place −”

Dan turned redder, and Phil backtracked. “Not like that! He showed up and started following me around everywhere.”

“Yeah, well.” Dan picked up the menu again. “He sure looks at you like you’re dating.”

“Dan, I don’t know if I’ve even forgiven him yet!” Dan’s words caught up, and Phil paused. “How would you know how he looks at me? You’ve never even met him.”

Dan flinched.

“Why do you know how he looks at me?” Phil demanded, pulling the menu from Dan’s hands. “Huh? That’s really creepy!”

“There was a picture of you, all right?” Dan growled. “Somebody took a picture with you, and him, in a restaurant, and he’s looking at you like he’s about to...to bend you over the table or something!”

Now Phil flinched, recoiling, and they were both silent, because it didn’t matter what Dan had seen, he shouldn’t have said that.

The waiter appeared, but Phil was too busy silently playing with the hem of the tablecloth, so Dan quietly ordered for them both.

Three courses came and went as Phil struggled with the vast amount of forks and spoons sitting on the table. Finally, he heard a soft sigh and the slight squeak of a chair being pushed back as he looked helplessly for a fork and knife to cut the chicken lying on his plate.

“Here. I said,” Dan murmured in his ear as he took gentle hold of Phil’s hands to place them on the correct utensils. “Work your way in.”

“I can do it myself,” Phil muttered. Dan smelled like he had at the premiere, warm and almost like chocolate.

“Sure you can.” His tone carried a sarcastic bite, but it was playful, not rude.

Phil tried not to shiver as Dan’s breath played across his cheek and determinedly attempted to cut the meat properly for a moment before he stopped, staring down at the elegant china plate, and the delicate silverware, and the browned, lightly seasoned chicken, drizzled across with some golden sauce, and then down at the suit he was wearing.

He let go of the fork and knife, and felt Dan still behind him at the clatter.

“What are we doing here?”

Dan’s voice was much less sure than usual. “Having dinner.”

Phil turned in his seat to look at him, and sure enough, Dan wouldn’t meet his eyes as he went to drop back into his seat and gestured to a waiter. Their plates were whisked away. “You’re bringing me around to all these fancy places and spending a fortune on...on _me_ but you also won’t say anything, you keep rushing me around, trying not to talk, and just being really weird. I deserve answers at some point.”

Dan swallowed as Phil’s eyes bored into him.

“Dan, _what are we doing here?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: omg I was going to upload the next chapter before I left but then hell happened and I didn't have time to pack for my weekend trip AND finish this chapter (which I was having a lot of fun writing once I got past the first block DX)  
> ASAP when I get back I'll try to post it so see u cuties then  
> -  
> lollllololololol “something SUITable for where we’re going” i’m so punny that it was UNINTENTIONAL and i didn’t realize until i was editing but i left it so that y’all could see how terrible i am  
> also what the shit i might be dying bc goddamn i tried to write this long chapter so quick after the last but then i had to fix it a whole lot like almost rewrite BUT IT WAS WORTH IT bc you cutie patooties were just so sweet last chapter when i was angsty as all hell and y’all said such nice things like i was almost crying wow tysm and and I’m updating on a weekend like i originally intended but never actually did & also i’m happier with this chapter than the last one so that’s nice  
> -  
> i will try to see you next weekend with the next chapter we’ll see if i pull together my life enough to continue a decent writing streak  
> (and hey if bad low key ((or not low key)) smut occurred at some point in this story would this be okay? not okay? DISCUSS? obv I’d have to change the rating but??? i might very well not because i would have to take so many breaks of “wtf am i writing omfg” but it was a possibility if characters decide they just can’t keep their hands off each other) (if not i’d probably just cut early and reconvene afterwards *cough* if this were to happen which idk y’know maybe this’ll have a terrible ending where nobody gets sexytimes or romance or anything *cough*)


	7. Movie Makeovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *still terrible human here who doesn't update when they say they will because their mental health likes throwing them curveballs*  
> BUT the chapter's longer than normal AND shit goes down like good shit because we need to get this show on the road honestly  
> also I like alliteration and synonyms so here's the title again in kinda-synonymed alliteration  
> (bonus points: play "guess than dan+phil reference" almost every chapter it's very vaguely, lowkey there but here there's like 2 and if you get them you win free secks)  
> (jk there's THREE NOW)

“We always get interrupted with this, don’t we?” Dan muttered.

He watched Phil’s brow crease. He didn’t blame Phil, this was all a mess, and Dan was barely keeping it together as it was. He leaned a cheek into his hand, huffing a breath. There was a reason he hadn’t really gone out for proper acting.

Neither noticed as the last course was placed in front of them. Phil was watching him expectantly, and Dan distracted himself for a moment from the catastrophe that was about to occur with how damn good his (unbeknownst) date looked in his suit. Extremely uncomfortable, yes, although also extremely hot.

But that was enough drooling. It was time to bring the ceiling down on his and Phil’s...whatever they had. Mockery of a friendship, maybe?

“There are...photographers. Paparazzi, following us everywhere.” The lump in his throat choked his words, but Phil’s widening eyes showed he heard Dan loud and clear. He watched Phil process for a moment, then spoke again. “It’s all my fault −”

“They’re following you?”

They’d spoken over each other. Dan, embarrassed, pressed his lips together. But Phil had heard him, and now he looked mildly indignant.

“How can it be your fault? _Your_ fault that you have people stalking your every move?”

“No, I just −” Dan started to protest, because he was going to say it, he should say this.

“Dan.” Phil’s gaze was gentle now, and this was all wrong, but Dan liked his soft azure eyes, and his voice died in his throat. “It’s not your fault, okay?” He shook his head and laughed. “ _This_ is why you’ve been acting so odd all evening?”

Dan couldn’t speak. He looked down at the multicoloured, melting spheres of sorbet in front of him and picked up a spoon, pushing them around on their plate. _Not quite._

Phil frowned, unaware of how cowardly Dan’s silence was as he moved on. “Okay, but why are you doing all this in the first place?” He gestured around the restaurant and glanced down at his dessert as well. “This is all too much for a simple outing. It’s ridiculous, I have to pay you back somehow.”

Dan’s voice was hoarse and small. “I’m happy paying for you.” He couldn’t shatter this moment, not now, not as Phil looked at him again with his blue, blue eyes.

“Hang on.” Realisation was reflecting in those eyes now, and a new kind of nerves were fluttering to life in Dan’s stomach. “This...this _is_ a date, isn’t it?”

 _Took you long enough,_ Dan snarked silently, but something like fondness also warmed his chest – fondness for clumsy, dorky, clueless Phil who could pull off his dinner jacket even as he scratched at the collar.

There was no denying the secret date now. “Yeah,” he muttered, shoving a half-gone ball of sorbet in his mouth to muffle the word. When he looked up, he found Phil badly hiding a smile, staring down at his hands.

“Well.” Phil peeked up at him from under his lashes. “I’m picking the place next time, and I’m paying.”

 _Next time?_ Dan licked his lips, and as Phil’s gaze followed the movement, Dan’s eyes drifted to Phil’s lips too. They looked awfully soft and pink and –

He cleared his throat and they both broke away as the cheque was slid into the center of the table. Phil was pointedly staring at the ceiling, his leg jogging under the table and his ears red as Dan slipped his card inside the bill holder and the waiter discreetly took it away. They couldn’t look at each other until it was brought back and they’d made their way to the doors of the restaurant.

Dan took a deep breath and glanced over to meet Phil’s eyes as they paused in front of the doors. It was dark outside now, if anyone was waiting outside to take pictures, they wouldn’t be hiding anymore.

“Ready?” he whispered, and Phil nodded.

Dan pushed open the doors, and took only a few steps out before he was blinded by flashes and he was right, they knew there was no point sticking to the bushes anymore − now they were yelling in his ears for any scrap of information he’d give them, asking questions he didn’t want to hear. He could just imagine Isabelle sending him a “give them what they’re asking for” look, and Jade nudging him, because she’d set this opportunity up for him to save himself. He heard Phil behind him, his breaths shaky.

Screw Isabelle and Jade.

Dan turned back, searching for Phil through the burst of lights, catching his frantic eyes and squeezing his hand, dragging him through the mass pushing and shouting at them.

It took the shoving aside of too many cameras to count to reach the car, waiting at the curb, opening the door to help Phil in before slamming the door behind them both, shutting it all out.

Dan glared out the tinted window at the photographers still shoving up against the car before turning to Phil, who was curled in the seat opposite, staring out at the cameras pressed against the glass with a fearful expression. “Is it always like that?” he whispered, and Dan felt another squirm of guilt in his gut.

“Sometimes,” he muttered. “I’ll...I’ll take you home.”

***

Only Dan wasn’t planning on the car having to stop some metres up the road from Phil’s door. Another crowd of paparazzi were mobbing on the sidewalk, and Dan’s nice car was recognizable enough to swivel heads. Dan clenched his jaw, because _surely_ Jade and Isabelle hadn’t leaked _Phil’s address_? But what really got him was Phil’s panicky breathing starting up again as he reached for his phone with trembling fingers. Oh, Dan was going to _murder_ them.

“I’ll...I’ll text Simon. See what’s going on inside.”

Dan bit his tongue to keep in check anything rude he’d been about to say in regards to Simon still being in Phil’s flat.

Phil picked up the phone as it rang a minute later, and Dan could hear that same voice he remembered in the background of his call to Phil.

“They’ve been here for a while. I could barely get in from work earlier, I’m sure you can’t get in now.”

“W-where should I go?” Phil’s knuckles were white as he gripped the phone.

A pause. “You could stay at mine? I could try to slip out and meet you there, you don’t have the key for my new place. I’ve only got one bed, but...”

“I’ve got it.” Dan tugged the phone from Phil’s grasp, his tone terse as he spoke into it. “He can stay with me.”

Not bothering to listen to the angry objections coming from the other side of the line, he hung up, very aware of how Phil was staring at him.

“I’ve got a lot of extra rooms,” he shrugged sullenly. Yeah, he was being a bit of an ass again, wasn’t he? So what? “Besides, this is....it _is_ my fault.”

 _More than you know,_ he thought as Phil continued to protest it being Dan’s fault.

“Listen, do you need a place to stay or not?” he finally asked, and Phil quieted. Dan watched him silently assess, no doubt thinking about what might happen if he slept at Simon’s.

Finally, slowly, he nodded.

***

As the car pulled through the giant gates into Dan’s sweeping driveway, he realised a beat too late that his house was really too large and compared to Phil’s place, he probably looked like some rich showoff.

Maybe there was some truth in that, but...

Once again, he couldn’t look at Phil as they pulled up to the elegant old mansion, rolling grounds sprawling out in all directions. Granted, it was big for one person and a few staff to upkeep the place, but he had friends, plenty of people coming over. He was always holding parties, and they often filled the place.

Embarrassed, he quietly led Phil out of the car and up the massive stairs to the front doors. Looking at his house, Dan did seem like a regular Mr. Darcy, didn’t he? At least he’d updated the inside.

The housekeeper met them in the high-ceilinged entrance hall, furnished with old-fashioned red rugs, but Dan had repainted the walls, redone the staircase and the paneling of the place, to incorporate intricately wrought iron, white paint, amber-coloured wood.

“Welcome home, Dan.”

“Yes, hello. He needs a guestroom.” He wasn’t in the habit of being cosy with the staff, and they knew it. Dan pulled off his jacket and folded it over his arm, loosening his tie as the housekeeper continued to smile at his terse tone and nodded, beckoning Phil after her.

He caught Dan’s eye, nervously seeking reassurance. Dan, realising his curt words probably hadn’t done wonders for Phil’s worries, allowed his own smile to tug his lips upward, nodding for him to follow her. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Phil nodded in response, wetting his lips as he stared around, following the housekeeper up one of the two grand staircases in the hall.

Dan watched them walk out of sight, and exhaled, sinking down onto a boxy white leather couch tucked into an alcove, pressing his fists to his temples.

Well, Phil was staying in his house now.

Whatever that would lead to.

* * *

 

Phil felt like every time he thought he was getting used to this maze of a giant, grand house, something new he saw would make him catch his breath. He was feeling light headed by the time the woman he was following stopped in the middle of a many-chandeliered passage and opened a door for him. “Here you are. Let me know if you need anything.”

“T-thank you.” Phil stepped into the room as she closed the door behind him, staring around at the giant bed − complete with black metal headboard of complex plantlike design and fluffy white sheets and pillows − the crystal chandelier − even bigger than the ones in the hall outside – and the door leading to a bathroom he could just make out − bigger than his own bedroom at home.

Gingerly, he took off his suit jacket. He wasn’t exactly comfy in it, but he also didn’t feel like he should be dressed in anything less than formal attire in this place. Glancing around, he found a golden-brown wardrobe standing in the corner and went to hang the jacket inside. A few pairs of pyjamas were folded in the drawers, but the most he could undress and feel confident in was the jacket. After all, Dan had said he’d come to see him soon, hadn’t he?

Or was Phil supposed to come to him? Did Dan expect him to venture out into the house and find him in his maze of a place?

Luckily, a knock sounded on the door in the midst of this heated debate in Phil’s head, and Dan poked his head around the door. He’d changed, into what Phil supposed were his casual clothes, but Dan-casual was very different from Phil-casual. Phil was pretty sure he’d seen that soft brown T-shirt displayed as part of a designer line at some point, and he had on those weird fancy sweatpants Phil could never pull off. At least he was barefoot, which made Phil feel better about maybe taking off his shoes.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Phil managed, folding his arms awkwardly. For once he felt overdressed in Dan’s company.

Dan looked him up and down, still in most of his suit, and smirked a little. “I was going to offer some forms of entertainment, but I don’t know if now’s the time. Feeling comfortable?”

Phil bit back giggles at his teasing face, which felt more genuine anything he’d seen all night. “No,” he confessed.

“Then let’s find something you _are_ comfortable in.” Dan opened the door wider, grinning, inviting him out.

Phil grinned back.

***

Dan’s room was just down the hall, and it was even larger and fancier than Phil’s. It also had two doors leading off the main bedroom, one for the bathroom, and one for a ridiculously roomy walk-in closet, Phil soon learned as Dan led him in.

Phil’s eyes drifted over the many hanging garments – lots of black, yes, but Dan also had every other colour of T-shirts, button ups, jackets, and plenty of other items of clothing Phil had no idea how to wear. Different shoes sat displayed on each shelf, from crazy-looking stilettos to high platform boots to brand new sneakers. Pants were folded in cubbies, plain black slacks, every style of skirt, bright shorts, patterned jeans.

Phil hadn’t realised he’d stopped in the center of the room, mouth agape, until Dan had waved a hand in front of his face, laughing. Phil closed his mouth as Dan’s eyes danced playfully. “I know my wardrobe’s amazing. But we have a job to do. I don’t half-ass makeovers, Phil. This is part of what I do.”

With that, he spun to rifle through the closet, every so often tossing something back to Phil. After a good number of items, he turned back to the pile in Phil’s arms and narrowed his eyes at it, thinking, and then they flicked up to Phil’s gaze. “Not quite, something else, something else...Ah!”

He swiveled back to a drawer, digging around, until he’d unearthed what he was looking for. “Here!” He pressed it into Phil hand and nodded in satisfaction. “Now change.”

“Now?” Phil squeaked, but Dan was already out the door, rolling his eyes.

“ _Now_ change,” he reiterated through the door.

So Phil changed.

***

The giant mirror taking up half the wall and the back of the door assured Phil that yes, indeed, he did look that good.

He opened the door to Dan sprawled out across the bed, chin in hand as he paged through a magazine, and when he glanced up and the page fell from his fingers, Phil _knew_ he looked that good.

Dan cleared his throat. “Yes. Yeah, you’re definitely... Suits are all well and good, but this...”

Phil glanced down at the crisp blue patterned button up and suspenders, black jeans and matching dark blue sneakers. He couldn’t see Dan really wearing much of this, but that closet was enormous. Dan could fit any clothes he’d ever gotten in there and still have room for odds and ends.

“I look like me,” Phil finished for him, looking up. Dan had his lip distractingly between his teeth again, and nodded, a slightly mischievous smirk curling into place. “A better dressed you.”

Phil rolled his eyes and played with a suspender, looking down at the ensemble. When he wasn’t taking Phil to uncomfortably fancy places, Dan could really dress him.

“So you’ll wear that the next time we go somewhere. Because I won’t see any more shitty strip mall shirts on you, right?”

Phil’s stomach fluttered. Next time. Next _date_.

“Sure,” he muttered as Dan bounced off the bed.

“Now, it’s too early for bed, so...I have an entire media room where −”

“Movies?” Phil’s head snapped up, because this was what _he_ did, and they were about to step into his comfort zone for once.

Dan looked surprised. “Right, that’s your thing, isn’t it? Should we go look for one?”

Evidently Phil’s desperate look communicated that Dan merely needed to point him in a direction, because Dan laughed and led the way back down the stairs and into the room.

The giant projector screen was majestically large in the already dauntingly big room full of things − shelves of gaming consoles and their respective video games, novels, comic books, various model figures, stuffed animals, and other paraphernalia from every form of media. A snack bar stood in the corner, with cushy couches lining the wall, and giant beanbags littered the floor.

But Phil immediately made a beeline for the ridiculous floor-to-ceiling shelves of shiny plastic spines, his fingers running over the films − old classics, and overrated crap, new box-office hits, ones he hadn’t seen yet, and some of his favourites.

Dan chuckled quietly, sinking into one of the beanbags as he watched Phil’s gaze wander adoringly over the collection. “And to think I thought you were really excited about my wardrobe.”

Phil barely responded, he was busy moaning with longing as he got to – “You have a Disney section. Everything. Oh god.”

“Do I need to tear you away? Phil, it isn’t normal to make noises like that because of movies.”

Phil was too enthralled to be embarrassed. “But look at this.”

“I have, I own them.” Dan was only laughing harder.

Phil pulled out _The Lion King_ , _The Black Cauldron_ , _Mulan_. “Sequels too, Pixar over here. Are you as obsessed as this looks like? Can I live here?”

“I haven’t watched them all.” Dan heaved himself up to come stand beside him, running his own fingers over the titles. “See, I haven’t seen this, or −”

Phil dropped his movies. “Big Hero 6? You _haven’t watched Big Hero 6_?”

Dan wrinkled his nose. “Weird title, I dunno. I don’t exactly have a million free hours to watch everything I’ve got.”

Phil grabbed a fistful of Dan’s shirt even as Dan looked amusedly bewildered – _Big Hero 6_ wasn’t to be taken lightly, and Phil wouldn’t let him spend another second of his life without having been through – and having cried over − the end. “You need to have Baymax in your life, Dan. We’re watching this movie.”

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes of popcorn and Dan sitting on the couch as Phil stood there, chattering away about movie crafting points later, Dan had observed a great deal about the movie already – thoroughly and completely, not missing the finer points of framing, shapes, lighting, character expressions or line wording, however subtle – thanks to Phil. San Fransokyo and its bright buildings and dark alleyways had been world building to the highest degree, and Dan didn’t even need to hear anything that was actually going on to know. Phil had dropped entirely into movie reviewer mode, and though his voice was drowning out all the actual audio, Phil was repeating everything, _with_ dissection of its meaning and purpose.

By the time Tadashi had yanked Hiro onto the back of his bike, Dan had almost given up watching the movie, and watched Phil still standing there, couch that Dan had slouched into forgotten, as he intently explained how every element of the movie came together to form the mood, the theme, the characters and plot.

“He looks like a marshmallow. He’s so squishy and cute,” Dan finally commented in one of Phil’s rare pauses as Baymax squeaked across the floor to run into the chair.

“Of course he is, he’s Baymax. And Don Hall directed Winnie the Pooh too, so there’s gonna be a cute squishy character in here somewhere.”

“Oh my god. Of fucking course.” Dan couldn’t suppress a smile. “Why do you even know these things, you nerd?”

Phil giggled, eyes still fixed on the screen, and as he pulled his lip between his teeth, his wide grin was too adorable for Dan to handle, and he felt a warm, nervous buzzing in his stomach.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held himself back from something like this. His circle of friends lived off casual hookups, and Dan was no stranger to them himself. But he’d been fighting this feeling since – when had it started, even? Long before his pride would let him admit it. He’d thought he’d outgrown juvenile, nervous, unsure flirting, never believed he’d feel a little quiver of excitement from simply a look, or the brush of a hand, blushing and staring and jealousy were all out of the question, because he simply didn’t _care_.

But watching Phil watch a movie, his eyes shining, watching his giant laughing smiles, Dan couldn’t fight it anymore – he’d stared at those lips enough, and he didn’t just want to, he _needed_ to −

“Hey.” He reached up to wrap a hand around one of Phil’s suspenders. Phil looked down at him, smile fading to surprise.

“Come here, nerd.”

Dan took a steeling breath and pulled, tugging the other man down to his level to capture Phil’s lips with his own.

His heart was pounding loudly in his ears at the press of warm skin, and as they parted, he found himself apprehensively searching Phil’s face, still just inches from his own as he slowly pulled away.

When had he last felt this anxious after such a chaste little kiss? He felt like he was some teenager doing it for the first time.

Phil’s eyes were wide, and a faint pink dusted his cheeks – Dan liked it when he blushed, but Phil was still, silent, unreadable, and Dan didn’t like that. His fingers were still curled around Phil’s suspender, but Phil still didn’t react, and Dan was about to disappointedly withdraw when Phil’s eyes began searching his. For a moment, they dropped to Dan’s lips, then returned, holding his gaze as Phil began to lean closer.

The kiss Phil began was soft, but as his hands grasped Dan’s upper arms, Phil pressed closer, and Dan, surprised, pressed back. But Phil didn’t seem to be having it, countering Dan’s movement by pushing Dan deeper into the couch, and Dan found his lips parting obediently as Phil explored his mouth, and Dan was just liking this entire exchange much too much.

Warm breath whirled between them when Phil pulled away. They were both red now, and Phil’s stupid grin was back as he finally dropped onto the couch next to Dan, exhaling. But Dan couldn’t wipe the frankly shameful smile from his own face, either.

They were laughing together as Phil straightened his fringe and Dan leaned on his hand. “That was about goddamn time.”

“Yeah. D’you...d’you want to stop the movie?” Phil asked softly, a little lopsided grin now in place − and if this suggestive gaze was Phil’s prelude to bedroom eyes, Dan was done, with a fork stuck in him. As it was, it took him a moment to actually process what Phil had said.

“Uh, you know, let’s...let’s leave it on. It’s a good movie.”

Phil’s approving grin was wide as he leaned in to capture Dan’s lips again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: WHAT THE SHIT there was FANART drawn OF THIS FIC [RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW LOOK AT THIS BEAUTY](http://martyoflungbarrow.deviantart.com/art/Film-Fashion-Fanfic-fanart-Chapter-7-14-640725931) (warning: low key not really spoilers for chapter 14, there are two not-very-spoilery lines of dialogue from it included that reference this scene)  
> JUST LOOK AT IT I'M SO HAPPY martyoflungbarrow is the SWEETEST  
> -  
> double notes bc dan the power bottom and phil the not-so-dorky top finally made their first appearances  
> & it IS about goddamn time  
> Ps Phil's wearing the outfit wavyfoxtrot put him in in [her fanart of this au if you want to actually see the cute lil suspendered bean](http://wavyfoxtrot.tumblr.com/post/142818654968) (it actually inspired this fic so yessss)


	8. Burn

Phil jerked awake from his light doze, blinking sleepily, aware of warmth. Dan, in a sweater he’d picked up in his closet and radiating heat, was curled against him, his head tucked under Phil’s chin, and Phil had wrapped an arm around him in his half-conscious state.

The movie was still going, almost done now, and judging by the surprising dampness on Phil’s chest, Dan had been awake and aware enough to watch and actually care about it. At Phil’s movement, Dan glanced up at him, tear tracks still on his face. Phil smiled sympathetically and a tad drowsily down at him, and Dan smiled tightly back before turning back to the screen.

Phil hadn’t seen him cry before. He’d seen him confident, angry, comfortable and used to his surroundings, and even awkward − when Phil had been the one crying the day Simon had left, and Dan had, for once, not seemed to know what to do. But watching Dan cry felt like Phil was intruding on something private.

Dan inhaled and sniffled as Hiro hugged Baymax onscreen, and Phil felt an odd surge of affection, pulling Dan closer to nestle further against him. Admittedly, he’d just had his tongue in Dan’s mouth, but there was something even more personal and bonding in watching Dan in this moment.

As the final shot of the team zooming around the city appeared, Dan buried his face in Phil’s chest for a moment, then took a deep breath and sat up, breaking Phil’s hold on him as he scrubbed an arm across his eyes.

“I’m not really a crier,” he muttered.

“Sorry,” Phil whispered amidst Fall Out Boy’s croonings about immortality. “It’s kind of hard to watch some of that.”

“No, that’s...that’s how good it was. Thanks for making me watch it.” Dan’s sweatered hands dropped into his lap as he smiled, eyes red, his guard as down as Phil had ever seen it. As Phil watched a drop wind its way down Dan’s cheek, he thought that if they ended up going on that second date, and maybe a third and beyond, if he was there the next time Dan cried – as sappy as it was – he might like to kiss the tears away. Now, he almost reached forward to wipe them with a thumb as Dan interrupted his thoughts, his tone clear he was done crying and was returning to his usual snarky self.

“It’s late. We should sleep.”

Phil’s shift to grab his phone confirmed his usual bedtime was long past. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” Dan didn’t move, just sat there, legs crossed, sweater paws sitting in his lap, looking at Phil. Phil looked back.

Warm in a way that was entirely unrelated to body heat, Phil broke the silence hoarsely. “So...”

“So.” Dan echoed, with a smirk reminiscent of the asshole at the red carpet, but it was softer, jokingly needling, almost inviting.

God, the last time he’d done anything at all had been with Simon, however many years ago _that_ had ended. It had been so long, he wasn’t quite sure what to do, and staying here with Dan looking at him like that was only a recipe for disaster.

“I’ll...” Phil struggled to stand clumsily on dead legs, trying to ignore the gleam in Dan’s eyes as they followed him. “I’m...going to bed. Goodnight.”

His body felt pleasantly tingly, but for the moment, he didn’t know how to take the hint Dan’s gaze suggested.

So he ran.

Well...awkwardly power walked, really.

Phil had just made it up the stairs and turned into the hallway to his room when a hand around his wrist gently tugged him round, and Dan was right there, the other hand reaching up to cup his cheek as he pressed another deep kiss to Phil’s lips, leaving only his taste behind, Phil blindly moving after his mouth as it pulled away much too soon.

“Goodnight,” Dan whispered, his eyes glinting in the dimmed hall lights as he stepped away, softly closing his own bedroom door behind him. If it weren’t for Phil catching another little smirk just before the door swung shut, he’d have had hope that Dan might have missed how Phil’s breaths were coming short and fast, how tremors were running through him from head to toe, and most of all, how his new black jeans suddenly felt just a little too tight.

***

Phil woke up to a disorientingly large, elegantly simple room with no alarm blaring, only a slightly gross oversleeping haze in his head. It took him a moment of processing to remember and then roll over, covering his face with his hands and trying to forget again.

He’d spent last night making out with Dan, and god knew what that meant now. He needed to talk about it, _wanted_ to, but he also very much didn’t. Even starting up something casual with Dan seemed like a horrible idea in the light of day. They hadn’t even fully ironed out their friendship yet, figured each other out, and now –

But as Phil let his hand drift to his lips, remembering the goodnight kiss, why did he want to find Dan and give as good as he’d gotten last night? Enough to leave Dan shaking and panting? Why did the idea of Dan’s wall dropping and the cool pride in his eyes turning to need and desperation after Phil kissed him senseless sound so exciting?

Phil still didn’t have an entirely logical answer after he’d retrieved and dressed in his old clothes and started his stumbling exploration back down the stairs. The only rational thought that kept bouncing around his head was that Simon was going to kill Phil for not texting him. His phone was dead and there weren’t many clocks around, but by the light, he’d guess it was almost noon at least.

However, as Phil rounded the corner into a magnificent high-ceilinged, modern kitchen − complete with a giant stove, fridge, and breakfast bar – and spotted his date from last night perched on a stool, Phil found him with altogether unfairly thick eyelashes languidly fluttering, leaning on the counter as he almost spilled the green drink he held, obviously not fully awake.

Phil also became almost instantly over-aware of the fact that Dan was entirely shirtless. As such, Phil was utterly prepared to turn around and walk right back out of the kitchen when this thought was interrupted by Dan noticing him.

* * *

 

“Morning,” Dan mumbled, tipping back the smoothie he’d just mixed for however long he’d been dozing with his finger on the blender button. He’d really stayed up too late last night after that last glimpse of Phil had gotten him a little too hot and bothered. But he’d known giving him that last kiss had been crossing the line already, what with the way Phil had booked it from the room after the movie and Dan’s flirting.

And now Dan’s brain was still back in bed, trying to continue a very pleasant dream that he’d been in the middle of − about what might have happened if he hadn’t dropped Phil’s hand, if he’d pulled Phil after him, even if he knew he couldn’t have − when his stupid phone rang. He slammed ignore on Jade’s call, but the ringtone had jolted actual sleep to somewhere far away, no matter how much he wanted it.

But he could still appreciate a messy-haired Phil, whose eyes seemed glued to his torso. “M-morning.”

Dan felt mildly disappointed as Phil visibly shook himself out of it and his eyes returned to Dan’s. He wasn’t going to complain if Phil wanted to stare at his years of hard work to keep in shape.

“Dan, we − we should talk.”

Dan wondered why “talking” felt as if it might just dissolve whatever this was, make it fizzle away into nothingness now that both of them were back in their right minds, now that Phil had had time to reflect and realise just how weird that date had been. Talking meant Dan’s secret might come out, and Dan couldn’t have Phil know how that date had first come about.

“Or we could...not talk.” Dan downed the rest of his smoothie and slid off his stool, approaching Phil leisurely, and it had the desired effect – Phil’s gaze started to wander again.

“My eyes are up here,” he finally said softly as he came to a stop in front of Phil. Phil started and his head snapped up, his cheeks flushed.

“Dan,” he whispered. “I’m trying to −”

Dan interrupted him with a finger to his lips. He was probably being a prat, but if he was going to put off this conversation, this wasn’t a bad way of passing the time. Besides, he’d spent the night in fantasy, which was all well and good, but something deep inside him desperately needed Phil’s lips on his again, and just maybe his hands roaming places they hadn’t explored before. He reached to gently twist a handful of Phil’s shirt in his fist, pulling him closer. Phil’s eyes were darkening. “I know, but how about we −”

“Daa-aaan!” A singsong voice cut off Dan’s heated murmur, and Phil jumped back, yanking his shirt straight again, pulling out of Dan’s grasp. Cool air stretched between them, and Dan felt irritation shoot through him as he turned to face the intruder rounding the corner, grinning playfully, her tone teasing.

“So, Dan, how did it −” Jade interrupted herself as her eyes stopped on the very reason Dan slightly wanted to strangle her. Phil was backed against the column that lined the door to the kitchen, looking guilty and still very red, and Jade didn’t look like she felt anything remotely playful or teasing now. She turned to stare at Dan, her eyes accusing. Dan glared back, arms folded.

There was a heavy pause.

“And...what is he doing here?” Jade finally asked through clenched teeth.

“Well, let’s think, Jade.” Dan didn’t fucking care anymore. Phil had wanted it, too, they’d almost continued what they’d left unfinished last night, and then Jade had come along. “I tried to drive him home last night, but when we got there, a mob of press was waiting for him, blocking the way. Odd, isn’t it? That they’d _know where he lives_?”

At least she had the grace to drop her gaze contritely for a moment, but Jade still wasn’t done. “Can I _talk_ to you, Dan?”

“No, _Phil_ needs to talk to me right now.” Dan turned away from her to look at Phil. Phil’s shoulders tensed.

“Why don’t I just...go home.” Phil couldn’t hold his gaze as he played with his phone. “My phone’s dead, so I can’t text Simon, and...”

Ah, yes, fucking Simon.

“ _Fine_.” Dan glared at Jade. “I’m taking him home, and we’ll talk after that.”

***

The car ride was silent. Jade had taken up residence next to Dan, her chin in her palm, glaring out the window. Phil sat across from her, dead phone in his lap, nervously twisting it between his fingers and pointedly staring at it.

Dan’s anger was still bubbling beneath the surface, but it was starting to feel like soon he would snap – maybe Jade’s face colliding with the window she seemed so intent on would make his point, and maybe Simon didn’t need to hear where Phil was at all hours of the day and Dan could break _Phil’s_ phone and see how _he_ liked it.

“Sorry,” Phil mumbled after Dan finally caught his eyes. Furtively, he glanced over at Jade and then back down to the phone. “I didn’t want to intrude on...anything.”

Jade’s only response was an eye roll before she returned to ignoring them both as Dan choked on air. “Oh, me and _Jade_? No, no. She’s my best friend. Fuck no.”

“Oh.”

And it was back to silence.

Dan ground his teeth together and was about to do something he’d probably regret when the car pulled to a stop. Phil slowly opened the door and turned to Dan.

“So, I guess I’ll...see you later?” Now that they were here, Phil’s face was full of regret, and Dan felt ashamed, because Phil obviously needed to talk about this _thing_ , and Dan hadn’t given him what he needed, because Dan was a goddamn coward.

“I’ll walk you to the door.” Quickly, Dan got out of the car, shooting Jade a look, who folded her arms and scowled back.

Phil watched him as he made his way around the car. “Dan, I don’t know...”

“Neither do I.” Dan looked up at the sky, then back down at him, and reached to squeeze his hand as they approached the door. He could give him this much. “But we’ll go on that second date, all right?”

Relief tinged Phil’s features, and he nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you.”

He surprised Dan when he leaned forward to give him a gentle peck on the lips before he disappeared, the door closing behind him, and it was in a slight daze that Dan started back toward the car.

Only Jade was waiting for him next to it, looking half ready to kill him. Still riding the high of Phil, he felt mildly uneasy, knowing that usually Jade was pretty easygoing, but –

“Daniel James Howell, I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at, but it isn’t funny.”

The smack over the head would have hurt, but it was more comical given the fact that she couldn’t reach that far, so she missed and hit his shoulder instead.

Dan still came away from it with anger coursing through him once more. “Excuse me? What _I’m_ playing at? What are _you_ playing at?”

Jade scoffed in disbelief. “Dan, we’re supposed to be _using_ Lester, not laying out a red carpet for him! Remember when you were about to murder him? When I told you that maybe you should pull it back and you got mad at _me_? Isabelle and I put a lot of effort into making sure this would run smoothly for you – we found good spots for you to take him, press that wouldn’t talk about us being the sources, hiding spots for them. Do you know how hard it is to wrangle paparazzi? And we did it because you said you wanted to clear your slate, Dan! Get your reputation back and use the guy who ruined your name for the perfect revenge! You said you were in on this stupid fake date and now you’re turning around and yelling at _me_ for it?!”

Dan mouthed heated words that wouldn’t come, but the silence was broken for him − a quiet, mirthless snicker behind him.

Somehow, he knew who he’d find as soon as he heard it, and Dan’s stomach, heart, breath, and everything else dropped, leaving his lungs unable to work as he turned around. Other than that one picture where he’d been in the background, Dan hadn’t seen him in person, either. But as they regarded each other, he knew. They both knew.

Simon’s smile was terrifying as he stared at Dan. “So,” he purred as he stepped in close, not blinking. His green eyes were practically throwing out sparks.

Dan couldn’t speak.

“You don’t care about Phil at all, do you?” he whispered. “You’re using him, _my best friend_ , because he ruined your reputation, and you don’t care one fucking bit.”

“No,” Dan croaked, his blood running cold. “No, it’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it? It sure sounds like your friend said it all.”

“That’s not – it’s not −”

“It isn’t? That’s really too bad, Howell, because I don’t know that Phil would find it all that hard to believe if I told him. After all, everything he’s told me of you has pointed toward the fact that you’re a complete bastard.”

Dan’s heart was back in his throat as he forced himself to spit the words. “He wouldn’t believe you, because it’s not true. And −” a way to take control of this situation that was quickly spiraling away from him “− he’s angrier at you than at me. He knows I wouldn’t −”

“Oh, I don’t think he does.” Simon’s eyes had narrowed at Dan’s desperate words, but they had nonetheless been true. “Fine. He still hasn’t completely forgiven me, but believe me, when he does – and it _will_ be soon – I’ll tell him. And years of what we’ve had could trump anything you _think_ you had for a few weeks.”

Dan opened his dry mouth to retort, but Simon grabbed his collar, yanking him down so that they were nose-to-nose, staring coldly into his eyes. “But if you step one toe out of line, if you call when I don’t feel like you should call, if you initiate anything I don’t like with Phil, I’ll ruin you. And if I have to bring myself down along with you in his good graces, Howell, I’ll tell Phil every single detail about how you’re using him and his feelings now that he’s convenient. Without hesitation. I’ll set us both to burn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: babes might take a short lil few week break here because I have a show that is about to go into tech week and then perform and then I'll come back, finish part one before I move into the dorm and take another short break between that and part two! p sure this is what will happen so I'll see you sometime after Aug 13th I think! (maybe earlier if life is nice to me)  
> -  
> Just changed the rating fyi and i'm late what else is new yup  
> I finally sat down and wrote out a storyline plot for almost all the rest of this fic so YAHOO  
> this is my favorite plot line of this chapter: "only simon is right there and he’s like lol you lil fucker i got you now i’ll tell philly"  
> -  
> also so ya know this is probably? going to be a two-part fic and hopefully I can time this right so that when I finish this first part I will take some time off and it will be right when I move in to my new dorm so that I can figure out my life and choices and unpack and all that  
> so hopefully like September but idek man idek we'll see


	9. Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter contains some (unrecognized by characters & not entirely explicit) EMOTIONAL ABUSE & issues with CONSENT.

Phil sighed as his cheek pressed deeper into the back of the chair and he scribbled another note down. As the credits started rolling amid the dramatic music, Phil roused himself to write faster, the names of the director, actors, important contributors. He forced away a yawn as he fell back into his chair, done with the notes.

It wasn’t as if _Mad Max: Fury Road_ hadn’t been exciting or interesting, Phil just felt like he didn’t have the heart for his videos lately. Or even watching the movies he was trying to review. He’d dully, dutifully notice a movie’s beats, its defining characteristics, its character choices. He’d research the cast and crew, do his homework on its easter eggs and interesting tidbits.

And normally this excited him to no end. It wasn’t as if he’d gone into this attempt to make a living not even enjoying it, but the world felt dull, boring. He didn’t even know what might make it better – normally, movies did that.

He sighed again as he slumped into his room and dropped into his desk chair, opening up his laptop to type up the notes – and attempt to start something like the first draft of a script.

His jokes felt flat. His fun facts weren’t fun. The movie had won awards, but Phil sure wouldn’t be winning any for this video. Especially if he ended up getting it up late at this rate. He’d procrastinated this for days.

“Are you gonna be done soon?” A chin rested on the top of Phil’s head as he hit the enter key again, and he reached up to rub his eyes and squint up at Simon.

“No. What is it?”

“Well, you missed dinner.” Simon smiled down at him and Phil turned to look at the computer clock, blinking rapidly. _Eleven_? Really?

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Simon set down a steaming plate of food on the desk and Phil couldn’t hold back a tired laugh as he leaned back in his chair. This was such a change from their younger days. He couldn’t remember a time when you could have _paid_ Simon to do something like this for Phil.

“Are you ever going to move out?”

“Do you _want_ me to?” Simon grinned back, moving to balance on the arm of Phil’s chair.

Phil’s response was immediate, if with a tinge of humour. “Yes.”

“Nah. You like it when I look after you.” Simon leaned in to press his lips to Phil’s temple, and Phil squirmed away, feeling on edge suddenly.

“Simon...”

“Sorry, sorry.” Simon held up his hands and got up to leave. “Got it. Night.”

“Night,” Phil murmured, returning to his script.

Simon had been weird lately. Even more familiar and forward than usual. Phil didn’t know exactly why, but it seemed to have only gotten more and more pronounced since Phil’s unexpected overnight away from home.

At the thought, Phil let his head sag forward to slump onto his keyboard. He turned to look at his phone, sitting, cold and silent, on the desk next to him. Phil had tried to call _him_ again a couple of hours ago, but as it had dropped again, he’d been forced to hang up. He didn’t need to leave another pathetic voicemail. And it was too late to call again now.

That overnight had been weeks ago. Simon’s smothering attitude had only been less disconcerting than the fact that Phil’s phone had remained almost completely silent since then, which worried Phil to the point where he’d now accepted his worst fear as truth.

Dan didn’t want to see him again.

Phil reached for the phone and debated opening his conversation with Dan to text him. But he knew what he’d find. A screen full of texts from Phil, with no responses from their recipient.

His fingers, betraying him, carried him there, and his stomach did its usual flip at the line of messages on his side of the screen. He tried to resist the temptation to throw the stupid thing, instead dropping it with an only semi-satisfying clatter back onto the table.

Shoving himself back upward, he placed his hands on the keyboard again.

_Just type. Fix it later. Give me anything, anything._

He typed. His fingers felt numb. His eyelids drooped.

Still, he typed.

***

“You’re so stupid, Phil.” The boy with sandy hair laughed as he tapped Phil’s chest with his light saber again. Phil found himself giggling along as he dramatically writhed on the floor, his own light saber rolling from his grasp away across the carpet.

“I’m dead! You killed me! AAHHHH!”

Simon was doubled over now, leaning on his plastic weapon for support as he howled with laughter. Phil smiled back as he lay there, staring up at the plastic-glow-in-the-dark-star-covered ceiling, gasping dying breaths until he saw his opening.

“But I was only faking, you cut off my arm, and SURPRISE ATTACK!” Phil yanked the light saber out from under Simon, pulling it away as Simon − indeed surprised – tumbled forward to land across Phil’s ribs, knocking the wind from them both.

“Yah! Take that, Sith!” Breathless, Phil stabbed Simon in the side, who squirmed, trying to protest through his now silent laughter.

“Not fair!”

“Good guys win!” Phil smiled triumphantly up into green eyes as Simon twisted into a more comfortable position, half-glaring impishly down at him.

“Because you cheated.” Simon stuck out his tongue, and as Phil tried to worm his way out from underneath him, Simon moved to trap him further, yanking the light saber from his hand and tossing it away.

“Hey!” Phil protested, and wiggled more, but to no avail. Simon’s entire body, although still pre-growth-spurt, was certainly more than a match for Phil’s twig arms.

Simon knew it too. He propped his chin on his elbow, perfectly at ease while Phil continued to struggle.

“Let me up!”

“Okay.” Simon’s face was filled with sudden glee. “But only if you do my dare.”

Phil stopped moving, narrowing his eyes. He’d learned enough about Simon from the few years they’d already spent in primary school together, as acquaintances – and then as Simon became the closest thing Phil had to a best friend. He was sure Simon’s dare wouldn’t be something tame, Simon simply didn’t think like that.

But still, Phil was stuck. “What’s the dare?”

Simon smirked, his eyes challenging. “You have to kiss me.”

Phil was shocked into silence for a few seconds before his voice spluttered back to life. “Wait, but...I’m...we’re boys!”

“It’s a dare, stupid.” Simon shrugged. He was a second away from laughing at Phil − Phil knew it, and his ears burned with embarrassment. “You doing it? Or are you too chicken?”

“I’m not...” Phil muttered. It was all well and good for the loud, brash, popular Simon – he’d bragged around school plenty about his first kiss, a year ago with one of the prettiest girls in their class. But Phil hadn’t kissed anyone yet. Of course, if he told Simon that, he’d be in for a sound round of teasing.

Come to think of it, Phil hadn’t even really entertained the idea of liking any girls at all, which was a secret from his peers he’d long ago sworn to himself that he would take to his grave when, last Valentine’s Day, all of his classmates had giggled over cards and snuck nervous looks at each other. His mum, when he’d ashamedly admitted to her that he hadn’t sent anybody a valentine, had said that he just “wasn’t an early bloomer” and that it was “quite all right.”

But words like that, spoken to Simon, would just be repeated to everyone in school accompanied by bouts of laughter.

“Chicken?” Simon asked again, raising his eyebrows. “Too bad. Guess you’ll just have to stay here forever. I’m not moving until you do it.”

Phil only hesitated for a few moments longer before wordlessly, feeling as if his face was on fire, he darted up to kiss Simon smack on the lips.

Simon’s eyebrows shot up again, and slowly he backed off Phil, laughing a little. “Wow. You actually did it. And I was gonna let you off easy with a kiss on the cheek, if you wanted.”

 _Really?_ Phil wanted to hide as he sat up, still blushing furiously. That was all he’d had to do? He wished he could read Simon better – a common wish, with how puzzling his friend was.

Still...he wouldn’t say it aloud, but somehow, that had been...nice.

“I’m impressed.” Simon grinned at him. “You’re braver than I thought you were, huh?”

Phil felt happy butterflies flutter to life in his chest at these words. Simon was impressed?

“Phil?” Phil’s mum’s voice floated down the hallway as her footsteps padded nearer. “Have you done your homework? There are biscuits in the kitchen for you and Simon.”

“Yeah, thanks, mum!” Phil yelled hurriedly, jumping up to straighten his clothes and to try to calm down.

However, as Simon smiled up at him, still sprawled out on the floor, Phil allowed himself to capture this moment in his memory – Simon’s lips curled upward, impressed with Phil’s daring for kissing him, and pleasant warmth flooding Phil’s body.

Phil smiled back.

***

“Phil.”

“What?”

“Can you put the fucking laptop away?” Simon rolled his eyes as he brought an arm up behind his head to look down the bed to Phil, who was sitting at his desk and typing furiously. “I don’t stay over to watch you write essays.”

“Simon...” Phil muttered distractedly after a minute. “This is an important paper, I told you I had to write it tonight. You know I’m trying to keep my grades up. I want to get into a good university.”

“Yeah, _whatever_.” Simon pulled out his phone to rest on his stomach, kicking around Phil’s duvet to cover more of his pyjama clad legs. “Come on, Phil, we’ve got a million years ’til uni −” (“Like _two_ ,” Phil muttered snarkily) “− and Susie from Chemistry won’t stop texting me, look...”

Phil sighed and grudgingly tried to pay more attention to Simon as he continued to type. “I mean, you did have sex with her, right?”

“Yeah. But c’mon.”

Phil spun in his seat finally to look at his best friend incredulously. His essay would have to wait. “Simon, you haven’t spoken to her since.”

“But look at what she’s sending me, it’s fucking ridiculous, you’d think she was half in love with me or something.” As Simon’s gaze moved from the phone screen he was examining to Phil, it turned mischievous as he patted the bed beside him. “Come on, Phil, come to bed with me.”

Phil grudgingly snorted a laugh and heaved himself out of his chair to collapse next to Simon on the bed. Obligingly, he reached to tilt the phone toward himself, but not before playfully giving Simon the kick in the shin that his comment deserved, and reveling in his best friend’s wince. He deserved it; ever since Phil had come out to him, Simon had always teased him about it – in his own weird way that Phil still couldn’t quite read, even after years of being his best friend.

Susie did indeed sound a little desperate, but Phil didn’t blame her. Simon was considered a catch by their classmates – only Simon seemed to think bouncing from short lived relationship to quick fling and back was the only way in his world of romance.

“Crazy, right?” Simon’s voice brought Phil back to the present, who cautiously nodded, unsure what kind of validation Simon − the king of confidence, who did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, with no care for whatever anyone else thought − wanted from Phil, who was much more likely to hold some title about insecurity. But that seemed to be all, as Simon let the phone fall to his side and stared up at Phil’s ceiling, still covered in the same glow-in-the-dark stars from his space phase after he’d first watched Star Wars.

Evidently, Simon was also feeling nostalgic about this particular memory, because he broke the silence with, “Hey, remember when we were small? When we were playing Jedi and Sith, here, in your room?”

They’d played Jedi and Sith a good many times, but...

Phil shifted to look at him. “When, exactly? We were small for a while.”

“When I dared you to kiss me.” Simon was grinning down at him, and suddenly, the recollection was there, the edges fuzzy, faint, but the memory of his lips on Simon’s still sharp and clear as yesterday.

Phil brought his hands up to his face. God, he couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten about something like _that_. “Ugh.”

“Hey, at least I helped you figure out your sexuality.” Simon nudged him in the ribs, snickering. “I was the reason you realised you wanted to screw dudes, right?”

Had Phil told him that? “Simon, shut up. I swear to god...”

Beneath his hands, still clamped tightly over his face, Phil’s cheeks were emitting a heat reminiscent of that day of Jedi and Sith. But Simon was slowly prising Phil’s hands apart, fully laughing now, and Phil didn’t realise what was happening until suddenly Simon had leaned too far down and his mouth was on Phil’s.

Phil could only register the minty flavour of Simon’s toothpaste as he lay there, frozen, an unwilling warmth filling his stomach until Simon slowly pulled away.

Phil was scared of how hard to read Simon’s face was as he leaned over Phil, watching him. He had to expect the unexpected from Simon, but this...this was a step too far, and he had absolutely no clue what was going on in his friend’s head.

“W-what was that?” His voice was unsteady even as Simon, in apparent complete control, brushed the hair off Phil’s forehead and smiled enigmatically.

“I don’t know. What _was_ that?”

“Simon.” Phil swallowed. “This isn’t a game.”

“I know.” Simon’s eyes flicked to Phil’s parted lips. “It was just something I’ve wanted to do for a while.”

Phil couldn’t reply − his lungs didn’t feel like they were working properly.

“Up for round two?” Simon leaned in, and Phil pushed him away.

“Simon. Stop. I don’t...what’s going on?”

“I was making out with you, and you were enjoying it.” Simon’s smirk was knowing.

Phil didn’t know if he’d enjoyed it. His head was spinning too much to think. “I wasn’t...”

“Really?” Simon’s hand slid down Phil’s chest to his stomach, and Phil tried to stifle a gasp as it continued downward. “You’re not really convincing me. You seem to have liked it.”

“Simon!” The word was panted as Phil’s hand fastened around Simon’s wrist to yank it away. “Why are you doing this?”

Simon stopped, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Phil, we both know you’ve had a crush on me for a while. I’m giving you what you want.”

 What? Had he? Phil struggled to think. He’d always thought Simon was attractive, but had he ever really thought about –

His brain, as though it had been waiting for this moment, suddenly supplied a dozen previously forgotten moments of the past. He’d reached to take Simon’s hand often after that kiss, until his classmates had started laughing at him about it. He’d slept over at Simon’s, playing video games late into the night, and fallen asleep leaning against Simon’s chest, warm and happy, too many times to count.

A tipping point, however – at Christmas when he was fourteen, he’d been making a snowman when Simon had started a snowball war, a furious fight that had ended up with Phil trapping Simon against the side of his house to grind a final winning snowball into his best friend’s face.

As Simon had tried to glare at him, failing miserably as their bodies pressed together, shaking from laughter, and Phil watched Simon’s eyes scrunch up as he laughed, Phil felt a strong and inexplicable urge to kiss him again.

More moments – lingering glances, heart-stopping closeness, cuddling, all of these times Phil had blocked out, ignored how much he’d enjoyed them. He’d cared for Simon platonically, he’d told himself. They were friends.

But he’d been lying to himself, he _had_ been nursing a crush on Simon. He’d also repressed it, silenced it, forced himself to get over it, and now – was he over Simon, finally, only to have his best friend making a move after all these years?

“I...I did, I guess.”

“So there’s no problem. Good.” Simon leaned down to seal Phil’s words away with his lips. But as Phil silently accepted Simon’s nibble on his lip and his tongue thrust into his mouth, he couldn’t help a small, nagging voice in the back of his head wondering if this was quite right.

***

Before Phil knew it, Simon was catching his hand to hold in the hallways at school, then pulling Phil into hidden corners during lunch to make out, and then, abruptly, he’d told the school they were dating.

Phil found himself wondering if dating Simon would mean he’d be able to figure out what was going on in his head, because with every passing day, he felt like he could understand him less and less.

He didn’t say anything to refute Simon’s words.

Only suddenly girls were glaring at Phil wherever he went, girls he’d considered his friends. Suddenly Rebecca from English would muffle a sob when Simon would drop in at the end of the class to accompany Phil to Chemistry, suddenly Jess from Math was breaking pencils every time Simon would lean over to pass Phil a note, and suddenly in Chemistry, Susie would spend the entire lecture staring at Phil as if her eyes would burn a hole in his head. Even guys were weird about him, he’d never publicly come out until this sudden announcement, and it didn’t make Phil any friends.

Before Phil knew it, a year had passed, and one by one, everyone he’d counted as a friend had drifted away, everyone except Simon. Phil wasn’t sure what to do anymore, and one day after mentioning, in particular, Susie’s clear ill will toward him, Simon suggested they skip Chemistry, and Phil seemed to have agreed without realising, as he often felt he did these days.

After dragging a reluctant Phil out into the school yard to press him against a tree, Simon was just getting into his favourite pastime with Phil – kissing – when Phil felt Simon’s hands drifting to land in Phil’s back pockets – _fine, it was fine_ – then to grab his ass, and then Simon was grinding against him, and Phil broke away.

“Stop.”

Simon huffed an annoyed breath into Phil’s neck and looked up at him. “ _Phil_.”

“I don’t want to −”

“Well, then maybe you should figure out what the fuck you want.” Simon stepped back. “You never want to do anything.”

“I don’t want to date you.” The words slipped out before Phil could stop them, and it took him a second to realise what he’d said. Simon stopped, unblinking as he stared at Phil, and Phil was filled with a sudden terror.

What if he lost Simon, too? He didn’t want that. He _needed_ Simon.

Who else did he have?

As Simon stepped back again, Phil felt his world fall as he watched Simon’s eyes freeze over.

***

They fought, and yelled, and screamed, and Simon told Phil he wasn’t coming back, and had gone off to his own friends and the girls who wanted to date him. And Phil had spent too many months crying himself to sleep, waking up, drudging through the school day, dragging himself home − every day, all alone.

Simon had left for university without saying a word more to Phil, and Phil had left wanting to say a word to Simon, yet with no clue about what could fix this unexpected, inescapable, painful rift between them.

But when they came back, Phil was a film student turned YouTube movie reviewer and Simon was a failed English student searching for any job that would take him, and suddenly Simon was back to joking, and teasing, and they were best friends again.

Only Phil’s old uni mates seemed to drift away too the closer he got to Simon, and once, Phil thought to wonder if Simon’s friendship was worth the oddly correlated cost of any other people he counted close to him – but the thought was buried as he and Simon fell into old, easy, comfortable habits he’d missed, he’d wanted back.

Phil also wondered if it was weird, if something between them felt off, but somehow, Simon seemed all right with it, and Phil had been okay because Simon had been back, and he needed Simon to be there to fill the gaping hole he’d left behind in Phil’s life, and Simon had appeared happy.

Until Dan happened.

As Phil’s head was filled again with Simon’s attempt to kiss him after the red carpet, a ring interrupted, and, irritated, he reached to stop it, whatever it was. He was so tired, and the plastic corners of keyboard keys were digging into his cheek, but he wanted to sleep, even if he was remembering some not-so-happy times in his dreams –

He shot upward as his eyes fluttered open to see the caller ID.

 _Dan Howell_ _is calling._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I’M BACK MAYBE FOR A SEC and tho I didn't have the chance to respond to all the lovely reviews of last chapter I read and appreciated them all ❤️  
> I hesitated to post this chapter as it’s darker than the other stuff in the story so far and I wasn’t entirely pleased with the way it all fit together and the way Phil experienced it all and I went over it many times trying to fix it but it’s here now and I’m going to move on  
> Also goodness ok like every review of the last chapter was almost word for word “fuck Simon that little bitch” LIKE EVERY REVIEW except for like two said one or the other or both so y'all got the gist of his character I guess  
> -  
> anyways ily and I missed u all & see u sometime after the next weekend of my shitshow of a musical preforming, with hopefully a happier chapter (it’s probably not going to be happier tho we’re heading into another super angst arc sorry)


	10. Shouldn’t Have, Couldn’t Have

“Dan.” Jade’s voice was sharp as she shook her head, her long earrings swinging, sparkling, as Dan stared down at his phone, which had just switched on to reveal a _Missed call from Phil Lester_.

Dan reached to unlock the phone and bit back disappointment and a dull pang of frustration as Jade swiftly snatched it out of his hand and slid it into her satin purse, giving him a look as she stood up from their plush seats to gather her coat.

“I should call −”

“Do you remember what happened with his friend, Dan? We agreed we’d leave it alone. It’s better for everyone.”

“I don’t care,” Dan groaned, grabbing for her bag as she pulled it out of reach.

He was lying. He cared. That was why he’d let her do this for so long, why he’d allowed her stop him every time he tried to call back. It would be “better for everyone to let it be,” now that Simon had threatened Dan so flatly.

Jade had fed him the line many times by now. He’d swallowed it, accepted it, but every time, he still found himself reaching for the return call button.

“If Lester finds out and tells, it’ll only be worse for you. The articles about your date have been coming out, the tide is turning. But if one video by a near-nobody about a petty little argument is all it takes to bring you down in the first place, imagine what would happen if he blabbed about this?” Jade raised her eyebrows at the now sullenly silent Dan and primly turned to look at the empty catwalk which − until a few minutes ago − had held dozens of people strutting up and down, garbed in glittering, shimmering fabrics, carefully arranged and sewn into gloriously outrageous outfits that had kept Dan captivated.

Until he’d turned on his phone after the lights had come back up and the hum of the audience of designers, models, and big names had excitedly begun again and Phil’s name had flashed onto his screen.

Dan didn’t answer Jade as he followed her down the emptying row of seats, out into the cool late night air, and inside the car, bound for home.

They’d been playing this game for weeks now, of Jade’s insistent interference with each buzz of his phone. And deep down, Dan knew talking to Phil probably would be a bad idea. But Phil still seemed curiously intent on talking to him, even after all this silence on Dan’s part.

Resentment simmered in the pit of his stomach as he scowled at her bag now. The more it went on, the more Dan wanted to tell Phil’s bastard of an ex to go screw himself, because Dan was going to see Phil anyway. There was something that kept bringing Phil back, and Dan didn’t know what, but with every passing day, it made Dan feel more and more guilty for going along with everyone telling him to cut Phil off.

But _would_ Phil understand if he heard about the original ulterior motives for that date? The question kept bouncing around in Dan’s head, forcing him to check himself every time Jade took his phone away and he felt his temper rising. Jade kept telling him it would all crumble around him if he kept their communication up, and Dan thought maybe it would. He doubted he’d forgive his own actions if he were in Phil’s position, regardless of how much Dan explained.

Yet Dan could also see a sobbing Phil in his mind’s eye. Sobbing because of Simon, the snake that had thrown them into this limbo in the first place. Leaving him to Simon didn’t seem like an option, even if – even if this whole situation didn’t make Dan feel much morally better than that living shitstain. He’d screwed with Phil one too many times.

What if they started anew? What if Dan tried to go into this one more time with a clean slate, with no plans, just because, well...Phil.

Because Phil’s unrehearsed, too-wide smiles were awfully precious to lose, because goddammit if Dan didn’t want to feel Phil’s body pressed against him, his lips on Dan’s once more, and feel that intense need – one he couldn’t remember feeling so strongly before.

Because Dan would give anything to just take Phil out to the cinema simply to spend the entirety of the film watching Phil instead of the screen.

And as he fell asleep on Jade’s shoulder in the back of the car, his dreams continued in this vein − thawing a cold in Dan’s chest like nothing else had for weeks and weeks.

***

When Dan woke up, light was peeking through his curtains and Jade was curled up like a cat next to him, snoring, having stolen a pair of pyjamas and half of his bed.

Muzzily, he pulled himself up to a sitting position, squinting around the room for something, finding it before he recognised what he was looking for. Her discarded things were hanging from the closet door. On proud display, the tiny satin purse, and inside, his phone.

He’d scrambled off the bed and caught up the bag before he knew what he was doing, and as he yanked out the phone and unlocked it, to be stared in the face once more with the _Missed call from Phil Lester_ , he felt a sinking in his stomach.

He couldn’t call him. He couldn’t tell Phil the whole mess of a story, and he couldn’t have Simon relay his version, either. He just couldn’t. Distance hurt like hell, but it would hurt a whole lot more to hear Phil crying about him, too, telling him never to talk to him again.

_Missed call from Phil Lester._

He usually left voicemails, which Jade encouraged Dan to delete. He unlocked the phone, and there – a voicemail from a day or so ago, he’d missed it.

He tried to delete it. He couldn’t.

Phil’s voice was quiet, defeated as it issued from the phone. “ _I was wondering if I could take you up on that offer of going out again. I wanted to see you. But_ _– I guess you’re busy._ ” He paused, a tiny gulp, and – “ _I...miss you, Dan._ ”

And Dan couldn’t think, because he was already pressing the call button.

“Hullo?” The voice was thick with sleep, but a cautious excitement was seeping through. “Dan?”

He couldn’t speak. _He shouldn’t have done this, he shouldn’t have done this, he shouldn’t have done this._

“Phil.” His voice was strangled.

“You haven’t been talking to me.” Dan heard sleepy reproach in Phil’s voice. He really should have left well enough alone.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I...”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When are you free?” Rustles in the background, like Phil was gathering paper and pen.

“I...Saturday.”

Isabelle, encouraged by Jade, had been booking him solid with every gig they could get, accepting every invite to every event. There were parties that day, but everyone holding those parties, attending those parties, everyone expecting him there – they all could fuck off.

Dan himself needed to do that with Phil, but he’d think about it after he’d lost himself in Phil’s broad smile and blue eyes one more time.

“Five? I’m taking you to dinner, remember?”

Dan laughed, and his chest ached. “I remember.”

“Good.” There was a moment of quiet, then, “Thanks, Dan.”

“No, I −” it felt like he was being stabbed “− I should have called you sooner. I’m sorry.”

His voice was soft. “It’s fine.”

“Listen, don’t...don’t tell Simon about this, okay?”

“Why?”

“I just...I don’t think he likes me very much, you know?”

“Okay...”

“Okay.”

“All right.”

“Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

“See you on Saturday.”

“Yeah.” Phil’s voice sounded slightly stronger. “Saturday.”

“Bye.” This was so stupid. He was so awkward and weird and –

Phil laughed. “Bye, Dan.”

And he hung up.

Dan could feel Jade’s glare from the bed, and as he turned to look at her, he sort of understood as she huffed and turned away. He shouldn’t have done that.

But he was also so goddamn glad he had. 

* * *

“Phil?”

Phil jumped as the very man he was thinking of poked his head into the room and appraised him.

“You’ve got keyboard marks on your face.”

“Yeah.” Phil rubbed the side of his face, dropping his phone onto the desk next to his untouched food from the night before. Simon’s gaze dropped to the plate, then to the phone.

“Who were you talking to?”

Phil hadn’t thought about his and Simon’s past in a long while. Now, looking at Simon with the dream memories playing on repeat in his head, Dan’s words echoing in his ears, a bitter taste of unease filled Phil’s mouth as he licked his lips. Simon’s eyes held something dark, hidden beneath layers of offhand ease and a relaxed smile – it felt like a mask.

“Just a friend, you know. From uni.”

“Wow.” Simon smiled wider. “That’s odd. They haven’t really spoken to you in a while, have they?”

The taste spread to his throat, choking his words. “Yeah. Well, they’ve been busy. A lot of them are in the middle of film projects.” Phil stood up before Simon could ask just _which_ film friend was talking to him and gathered up his plate.

Simon blocked the door before Phil could slip past him and leaned on the doorframe, catching Phil’s gaze.

“Hey.”

“Y-yeah?”

“We’re fine, right, Phil? We’re doing okay?”

Phil couldn’t hold his eyes. He dropped them. “Sure.”

Simon paused, not moving, still in Phil’s way. When he spoke again, his tone was carefully constructed and casual. “That wasn’t Dan Howell on the phone, was it?”

The back of Phil’s neck prickled, and he pushed himself to look once more into green eyes, forced himself to issue the challenge.

“No, why? Would he be able to tell me something to make us not fine?”

Simon stared at him, and Phil stared back, his stomach in knots. Finally, Simon stepped aside, still staring. “Of course not, Phil. I was just wondering.”

“Of course not,” Phil muttered under his breath as he scraped his uneaten old dinner in the bin and dropped the dish into the sink. Turning on the water, he watched the little dried out grains of rice swirl down into the drain, feeling Simon’s eyes burning into his back.

Only the tense silence was cut by an innocent tune that still made Phil jump – and after weeks of waiting for it, Phil wanted to be hearing anything but the sound of his ringtone as he whirled around, heart pounding suddenly at the same time Simon’s gaze darted to meet his own panicked one – it was in the office – Dan had called again, and Simon would know − he was turning, running to grab it –

Phil collapsed against the desk as Simon triumphantly jerked the phone to his ear, breathless as he answered. “Hello?”

His tense shoulders and voice dropped as the speaker answered. “Oh. Oh, hello, Mrs. Lester. Yes, hello. I’m, uh, staying with Phil at the moment. Yeah, an issue with my place. Sure, I’ll get him for you.”

Wordlessly, he held out the phone to Phil, whose weak knees almost didn’t carry him to take the call from his saviour, his mother.

“Phil!”

“Hey, Mum.”

“You haven’t forgotten I’m popping down to see you this week, have you, darling?”

Shit. He had. “Course not! I wrote it down back when we planned it, I remember!”

He’d always been a terrible liar.

“All right, well, I hope you have room for me if you’ve got Simon staying with you!” She laughed, and he laughed awkwardly, and abruptly she’d stopped, and he was still laughing, so he trailed off.

Her voice was hushed. “Phil, you’re not seeing Simon again, are you?”

Phil could feel his face go red, and hurriedly, he headed for his bedroom, away from Simon’s prying eyes. Only when he shut the door behind him could he feel comfortable answering her – in a whisper. “No, I’m not!”

“Oh, good.” She sighed in relief.

“Well, I...I might be starting to see someone else, though.” Phil glanced furtively at the door and dropped back onto his bed, nerves bouncing around his stomach. Simon was out there – apparently none too happy with Phil’s recent activities in the field of romance – while his mother was listening intently to every word – though making every attempt to be supportive, she remained awkward about him dating boys. And here he was, blabbing about the whole situation.

“Oh?” She sounded faintly hopeful. “Who is it?”

He picked at the quilt covering his bed – one she’d made for him before he’d left for university. She was probably secretly hoping it was some sweeping, sudden, happily-ever-after affair with a girl. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen.

He’d come this far. He had to tell her. “He’s actually pretty big in fashion. His name’s Dan Howell.”

“Oh.” Slight disappointment, then – “ _OH!_ Dan Howell! Really, Phil, really? Cynthia was yammering on the other day about how she’d seen some picture of you with him in some tabloid, but I thought it was all her imagination, she’s going senile anyway, so – Really, Phil! Oh! This is exciting! I’d like to meet him!”

“Oh my god, Mum, no! I don’t even know if this is that serious, I’ve only been on one date with him! Besides...”

He should talk about it. His mum would understand. She understood him. Most of the time. She certainly made a valiant effort, at the very least.

And she’d certainly stuck enough plaster to scraped up knees, kissed feverish foreheads, and hugged away lonely tears in Phil’s lifetime for her to return to her role as his childhood confidant. She would care, even if she didn’t understand.

“I’m...not sure if it will work. I don’t know if he’s actually that into me. He keeps on not talking to me, ignoring my texts and calls, and I know he’s probably busy and has a lot to do and I’m probably just another person he’ll see for a bit and then leave, but I really −” he hiccoughed, his voice stuck in his throat even at the words tumbled over each other.

He hadn’t confessed this to anyone, he couldn’t. Who could he tell? But he needed to, so badly.

“I really like him, Mum. A lot. And I don’t −”

He hiccoughed again.

“Philip.” Her soothing voice filled his ear and he clutched the phone closer. He’d forgotten how comforting it was to just talk to her, to tell her everything. He’d _missed_ her. “Phil, I love you. And he’s very silly indeed if he doesn’t love you too.”

He sniffled, laughing a watery laugh. “I don’t think we’re quite on that level yet.”

“Oh, hush, Phil.” He could hear her smile. “I’ll see you soon. And call your brother, won’t you? He says you never talk anymore. You were so close when you were little...”

He cut her off before she could properly launch into a reminiscent rant. “ _All right_ , Mum!”

“I love you.”

Phil sighed, running his hand through his fringe, allowing the same fondness she’d had to grudgingly creep into his tone. “I love you too.”

She hung up, leaving a quiet, empty beeping in his ear, and he dropped the phone to pull her quilt over him, not wanting to return to the world outside his bedroom, where Simon with his suspicious behaviour and dark eyes waited, and where Dan Howell’s interest in him seemed to come and go like the tide. Where Phil just felt confused and lost.

He hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed his mum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am disappointed in myself & give you 100% permission to be disappointed in me that it took me this long to post this chapter that barely anything actually happens in as we continue with more frickin backstory and dan being unnecessarily emo (as per usual)  
> but imma post another one like anywhere in the timeframe of fri/sat/sun so like tomorrow maybe because this schedule is screwed anyway  
> and we gotta get to the part where everything goes to shit and go wading in the angst already y'know


	11. All You Need

Dan’s bad mood began with a passive aggressive eye roll, a flip of Jade’s bobbed hair, and a sigh of a comment. “Whatever.”

Dan had been good for so long, going along with her and Isabelle’s meddling, letting her dictate how he navigated this mess, but this was the last straw. He’d made a choice about his own life, and now she was acting like he’d set out to offend her personally by it.

Dan’s temper finally reared its ugly head and he gripped his coffee cup tighter, his knuckles white as he took a sip and tried to keep his tone even and failed. “Jade, I can make my own decisions, thanks very much.”

“Yeah! I know! I said whatever, Dan!” Jade glared across the table. She was quickly crushing her croissant into crumbs in her fist.

Dan slammed his cup down onto the table, nearly upending it. “Obviously it’s not whatever with you, though! So say whatever you want to say!”

Jade had barely spoken all the way to the cafe they were now eating breakfast at, ignoring Dan and staring out the window. Now her eyes were glittering harshly as she clenched her jaw, fighting back words she finally growled now.

“I think you’re being really stupid, Dan. That’s what I think, all right?”

“Well, screw you −” Dan started to retort, but Jade cut him off.

“No, Dan! I’m watching you beat yourself up over this guy again and again, some random YouTuber you were furious at a few months ago for the most ridiculous, arbitrary thing, and then, when he finally does something to be angry about – making a video to slander you – suddenly you’re forgiving him! Suddenly everyone starts to hate you, and the person at fault for that, you’re ready to let him live and let live!”

Dan tried to interject. She shut him up with a look.

“You seem to like him, but with how he’s acted so far, I’d say he wouldn’t let something like this go. And you deserve better than that. There are plenty of other fish in the sea. You’re losing everything we built, Dan! Over some kid that behaves like he doesn’t give a damn, and who isn’t worth all this mess you’re getting yourself into!”

That wasn’t true. Phil cared. This wasn’t about some petty fame thing with him, it was something else, something real.

That was what Jade didn’t seem to understand, that was what was breeding bitter feelings on Dan’s part. Dan didn’t even care about the press anymore.

He just wanted to see the stupidly quirky, dorky, somehow irresistibly attractive man that Phil Lester was – untouched by the politics of fame and fashion. Dan had seen him hurt, but even in pain, he was still so bright. Brighter than Dan thought someone could be, and certainly brighter than Dan could ever be. No matter how many times he practiced a blinding smile, Phil’s careless grin could outshine Dan’s most carefully constructed expression any day.

And selfish though it may have been, Dan wanted him to stay.

Jade was wrong. “He’s been calling me, texting me, he −”

His best friend scoffed. “That video he made about you was his five seconds of fame, and if you ask me, I wouldn’t doubt he and his friend would seize this opportunity to get just two more minutes in the limelight. You’ve been his window into the world of celebrity, and I know how people like him think. _He’s using you_ , Dan.”

Except Dan was done listening. He stood up, staring down at her. He could feel his hands shaking with rage.

“Believe it or not, Phil isn’t like that and you don’t know him at all. I’m seeing him on Saturday, Jade, and if it’s without your approval...” he clenched his fists, stilling their trembling, and snarled the words. “Well, then I guess that’s too fucking bad.”

Jade shot up too. “Fine. Then don’t ask me what the hell I think is best for you if you won’t even give me the time of day. In fact, don’t talk to me, thanks.”

Dan watched as she turned and stalked out the door, slamming it behind her, and as he felt a sudden, brief twinge of regret, he gulped down the rest of his coffee, burning his throat, and yanked on his coat.

It was too late for regret.

* * *

 

Phil took a deep breath, bouncing on the balls of his feet and trying not to pace.

He ended up pacing anyway.

Simon had left for work many hours ago, and now Phil stood by the couch where Simon’s things had been piled, an almost-explosion of clothes and toiletries. In the last two days of a growing, nerve-wracking idea, Phil had filmed his _Mad Max_ review, trying to tamp down his nervous energy, edited it in an anxious whirl, and posted it, tapping tensely on the desk as it uploaded, and now, he was left with nothing more to occupy himself with until Simon came back and Phil did what he needed to do.

He inhaled again, because surely this was supposed to do something? Weren’t deep breaths supposed to be calming? Phil just felt on edge.

Tapping a foot and picking at his nails, again, he mumbled rehearsed words. “Simon, I appreciate all that you’ve been doing, but, y’know, my mum’s coming to stay, and now’s the perfect time for you to...head out. Maybe.”

He pressed the heels of his palms to his temples. “No. Shit. What do I say?” He turned to appeal to the houseplant sitting in the corner of the room next to the TV. “How do I...”

The jingling and click of a key in the lock. Phil froze. He wasn’t ready, he didn’t know how to do this. Not again. Simon’s habit of blowing up when Phil said no was exactly the opposite of what Phil wanted right now.

Phil could only stand like a deer in the headlights as the door opened.

Simon paused in the door, eyebrows raised, keys in hand. He looked tired, his hair rumpled and clothes creased. Phil felt half of his brain suddenly arguing fiercely and nervously that right now was the very worst time to tell Simon to clear out. This was the type of time when Furious Simon would be primed and ready to appear, to strike. The other half of his thoughts – still occupied with enough anxiety in their protest to seize up the words in Phil’s throat before he could utter them – tried its best to stubbornly maintain that he needed to say what he wanted to, no matter the consequences.

He would be so angry, though. Phil could feel himself shrinking simply thinking of it.

“Yes?” Beating Phil to words, Simon closed the door behind him, turning out his pockets and tossing his things onto the table, loosening his collar. He looked right at home. Phil’s eyes fell upon his own flat key, shining proudly on Simon’s key ring, like it belonged there.

“I think – it would be nice – I’m thankful...I mean −”

Simon’s inquisitively attentive expression swiftly dropped as Phil stuttered through these words, and he turned away, yawning and stretching, stepping past Phil to flop onto the couch, closing his eyes. “I’d love to hear what you have to say, Phil, but I’m really tired, all right? You can tell me later.”

No, he needed to say it now. “Hey, no, this is – listen, Simon, I appreciate −”

His stupid phone ringing interrupted, and Phil cursed it again, plunging his hand into his pocket and scowling when he saw his older brother’s face.

They’d barely spoken since last Christmas, and they hadn’t bothered to seek each other’s company outside of mandatory family gatherings in years. Their childhood disputes had made way for their cool, at-arms-length treatment of each other in adulthood.

Phil couldn’t think why he’d be calling, which probably meant it was something somewhat important. With a sigh, he hit answer.

Simon opened one eye as Phil spoke, his tone terse. “What is it, Martyn?”

“Phil.”

“Yes? What?” Phil’s snappy manner usually would provoke retaliation from his brother, but there was a surprising lack of this in his hollow answer.

“Mum, she’s...” He swallowed, leaving a horrible silence.

At the words, Phil stopped, his irritation, nerves, everything, stripped away. He only knew he felt like he was going to vomit, and Simon opened both eyes, sitting up and staring at him, sudden apprehension in his face, listening.

“Phil, Mum is in the hospital.”

“Hey −” Simon whispered as Phil swayed. He felt woozy.

“What?” he mumbled. “How? Is she −”

“She got in a car accident. She’s unconscious, they’re saying it’s not...it’s not looking good −”

Simon caught Phil as his knees gave out and pulled the phone from Phil’s grasp. “Where?” he barked into it. “Text where she is. We’re coming.”

He hung up, dropping the phone to pull Phil in to him, who shuddered, his fingers curling around handfuls of Simon’s shirt. Not her, not now, when he’d only just spoken to her for the first time in ages, when his last “I love you” was tinged with irritation instead of the sincerity she deserved, she couldn’t be, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

His eyes dropped to his clenched fists and he raised a hand, staring at his fingers. They didn’t look real, somehow. None of this felt real. It wasn’t. His mother was home, safe and sound, surely, it was a mistake. But of course it wasn’t, because...

“She was driving to see me,” Phil murmured, and dully noticed his body was contracting, his chest heaving, and surely his inability to take in air was important as his cheek pressed against Simon’s shirt. He couldn’t feel any of it, some odd disconnect in his brain had happened during that phone call, splintering his awareness of every nerve in his body.

“Come on.” Simon was talking to him, and there were text message tones, and Simon was gently lifting him up from where he’d dropped to his knees, his arm curling around Phil to stop him from falling once more, which Phil knew he would do if he was forced to stand on his own right now. “We’re going. I’ve got you, I’m here, Phil.”

Phil’s awareness of the whole situation started fading in and out after that. His feet, stumbling down the stairs, almost tripping on the pavement, the side of his face pressed to the glass of a car window, then being drawn to lean in to Simon’s chest.

She’d been coming to see him, she’d been driving, and then she’d crashed.

_She’d been coming to see him._

***

Phil stared at the tiny figure on the bed.

Had his mother always been so small? Had he not noticed how she was wasting away? Even covered in bulky bandages, she looked so frail and delicate. Like she was already slipping away from him.

A touch on his arm. Martyn. Phil turned to look at his brother, who had never looked so old, bags the colour of bruises hanging beneath his eyes, stubble clouding his jaw. The harsh overhead lights cast a silvery tint in his hair, like Phil’s brother was pushing sixty instead of thirty.

Phil caught sight of a paper white figure standing beyond the bed, looking half dead, or perhaps fully a ghost, hunched and trembling – only it was his reflection in the window. He stared blankly at himself, leaning on the railing around the bed to avoid dropping to the ground again, to still the shaking in his knees.

“You should go home. You’ve been here all day.” Martyn ran a hand over his face, peering at Phil tiredly. “Simon said he would take you home. You need to take care of yourself, he says you haven’t been sleeping.”

“Now isn’t the time,” Phil choked. “Mum is −”

“Now is the most important time, all right? You look terrible, and I can’t handle you ending up in A&E too, Phil. I just...” Martyn’s voice broke. “I just can’t.”

And he turned to leave Phil standing there, sucked back in to stare at their small mother, lying there, dying on the bed. And another hand was wrapping around his shoulder, guiding him back toward the door, away from her, and Phil fought.

It was his fault, he needed to be here, before she was gone from him forever, and he hadn’t gotten to say goodbye properly.

He struggled with the hand, pulling back toward the bed, but then he was tugged back, and Phil collided with a chest.

He heard Martyn’s muffled words as unwillingly, Phil’s arms came up to wrap around the body now enveloping him. “Thank you for looking after him, Simon.”

As Simon pulled him from the room, Phil could only cling to him, through the bleached corridors, the drive back, the walk up the stairs, into the flat.

And as Simon guided him into bed, Phil still couldn’t let go of him – a touch of warmth, he felt so cold – and Simon hesitated, then climbed in beside Phil.

Under his mother’s quilt and pulled up to lie on Simon’s chest, the tears an empty Phil couldn’t cry finally escaped. It started as a silent stream down his face, then gasps of breath, hiccoughs of sound, sobbing, a scream Phil couldn’t stop until his voice died in his throat, leaving hoarse panting and a mouthful of Phil’s fist as he bit into it, silencing himself – maybe he’d feel this too, like that lick of warmth from Simon, but as his teeth scraped his skin, as he closed his mouth around a knuckle, he tasted blood, but pain seemed buried under layers of numbing cobwebs wrapped around Phil.

Simon’s fingers were on his face, wiping the tears all away, smoothing back Phil’s hair, caressing him, murmuring assurances Phil could only half hear.

“It’s all right, Phil. I’m here, you have me. I’m all you need.”

Phil fell asleep to the quiet whispers in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, everyone i love is leaving me so here’s the fuckin angst can you feel my pain thx this was fun wasn’t it  
> no for real tho I’m sorry hurt must be had man this is an angsty fic so see u next week bc we’re not done swimming in this olympic sized swimming pool of pain  
> also boop first new REAL person being brought in as a not-background character hey there martyn you’re the first but you won’t be the last  
> (guys also omg don’t mind me but “PHIL LESTER YOU ARE A GENIUS” hurt my heart in the gaming vid yesterday it was so high pitched and adorable with the SHAKING and the PHIL GRIN(tm) & dan being cute phil trash kills me everytiem)


	12. It's Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi get your holy water to douse yourself with because here’s the unholy smut you wanted but not the unholy smut you deserve i’m sorry  
> and if ya don’t want the smut skip when they start making out because there’s some important info beforehand  
> 

His head hurt, like he’d bashed it against a wall a million times. His mouth felt like sand. And his eyes seemed glued shut.

Phil tried to shift to rub his face against the pillow, but his cheek was cushioned by a warm body instead of fabric and feathers. Disconcerted, he peeled his eyes open, peering up at the person he was lying across. A mop of sandy blond, faint freckles, green eyes Phil couldn’t see but knew hid behind pale lashes curling upward against his cheeks. Simon. What?

And it all filtered back into Phil’s head, not in a flood, but a terrible, slow trickle, and he sat up to scramble for his phone.  _ Please… _

His phone screen was clear of notifications, no texts or calls.

She wasn’t gone. Relief loosened his limbs and he slumped back onto his pillow, but his chest still felt tight. His eyes burned. When would the call come in? In ten minutes? Thirty? An hour?

Was he just waiting for the end?

A thumb swiped across his cheekbone, catching a teardrop, and Phil glanced over at Simon, who was watching him with half-open eyes.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his hand dropping to cover Phil’s.

He  _ was _ here. Had Phil really been about to throw him out just yesterday? It felt like an age ago, a time when Phil didn’t feel like he was drowning in unreality, when he’d actually been awake, not even twenty-four hours since. Now, with everything dulled and dreamlike, Phil thought he couldn’t do that, it would be wrong, when Simon had been there for him, had helped him. But had he been here before? Why was a swoop of weird déjà vu,  _ wrong _ déjà vu overtaking him as Simon pulled him into a hug, why did it feel like after uni, when it had all suddenly been better, when Simon had been better, when Phil had dismissed niggling misgivings in the back of his head because he’d just wanted it all back?

Uncomfortable, Phil tried to casually squirm away, to the edge of the bed, away from Simon. Something to do – he reached for his phone again, its lockscreen still empty, but it felt like he was forgetting something as his eyes fell on the date. Saturday. What did he have on Saturday?

_ Beep beep _ . A text.

DAN:  _ Meet you by the fountain tonight? _

Oh god.

That was what.

***

But Dan would take his mind off all of this, Phil thought as he straightened his suspenders that night and peered at himself in the mirror. Anything to distract himself.

Simon watched with hooded eyes from the couch as Phil came out of the bathroom. Phil had made his spiel about going to meet his old university mates tonight, how he might be out late to catch up with them, but it wasn’t true, and Simon knew it.

As Phil buttoned up his collar, Simon stood, approaching to take Phil’s hand and stand a touch too close with eyes that said he was all too aware who Phil would be seeing. “If it’s too much, you can always come home early, all right? I’ll be here.” His lips brushed lightly against Phil’s cheek before releasing him, and Phil’s feet were carrying him out the door and down the stairs, away from his flat, where he didn’t know what to feel, where everything was a mess, where it felt like it was all about to tip over the edge and break – and as his steps carried him further away, Phil hoped against hope that what he was approaching would fix all of this – not shatter everything into a million pieces.

* * *

 

“Dan. There’s someone at the door to see you.”

Dan turned to glare at his housekeeper, slamming a pair of heavy boots onto his closet shelf with more force than necessary. “Well, let them in, then!”

The older woman, perfectly acquainted with Dan’s fits after years of holding this job, merely sent him an unimpressed look as she folded her hands and raised a silver eyebrow. “It’s Jade.”

“Oh, forget it.” Dan yanked on his jacket and jogged out of the room. His bare toes sank into the carpet as he hurried down the stairs – not exactly producing the satisfying – if childish – stomping he desired.

Fine. Good. If Jade wanted to talk to him again, he’d wanted someone to throttle all week.

He glared at his own reflection as he passed it in the entry hall too, messing with the many silver zips running up and down the black jacket and the loose T-shirt underneath. He hadn’t dressed down this much to go out for years, but somehow, he didn’t think that Phil would be taking him to a place where the plates were rimmed with gold, or where the patrons would encourage fashion-forwardness.

When he jerked open the front door, Jade’s eyes went directly to his shirt.

“‘ _ Born on the internet _ ’? So you’re not going out after all?”

“Shut up. I am.” Dan wrapped his hands around his elbows, clenching his teeth. He’d hold it together. He’d send her off with as much civility as he could muster, even if anger bubbled in his chest.

“Well, that’s a really dorky shirt to wear, then.” She looked up to meet his gaze. “You’re really doing it? Where are you even going?”

“I don’t fucking know, Jade.” Dan raised his eyebrows, leaning to the side, but intentionally keeping a shoulder blocking the door. She wasn’t invited in.

“Somewhere every item on the menu is fried? Last I heard, you were keeping fit for an upcoming swimwear ad.”

“Phil’s taking me somewhere, alright? Then I’ll bring him back here and...and we’ll talk.” They needed to talk. It was about time Dan actually talked to Phil.

Jade stared at him, shifting from one platformed heel to the other, pulling her full, glossy lip between her teeth. She was about to go to the party they’d both been invited to, Dan realised. And she’d come here to bring him along.

“So you’re going to tell him, huh? Fuck, Dan.”

As it turned out, he really couldn’t muster civility. “I don’t know, Jade, and I don’t know why you think this is any of your business, anyway, if you’re going to tell me off every time I talk about it!”

He’d finally broken, and Jade, as if waiting for it, let loose as well. “Maybe I wanted to try one last time to prevent my best friend from ruining his career, Dan! Maybe I’m fucking worried about you!”

“Isn’t that too bad.” Dan turned to the closet next to the door, grabbing the first pair of shoes his groping hand landed on – a pair of black and white Nikes. He tugged them on roughly and shoved past Jade without waiting for her response.

As he stepped up to his waiting car, and the door was opened for him, he turned back to her.

She was mad. Good. He was furious.

But he’d still have the last words.

“Sorry, I’m going to be late to my attempt at ruining my career.”

And then he was in, the door was slammed, and they were driving away, leaving Jade standing there.

As he turned out of sight up the drive, Dan couldn’t see Jade as she whipped out her phone. He didn’t see her furious fingers as she typed a text. And he didn’t see her pause, a final, slight indecision wavering in her eyes, before it dropped in favour of hard determination as she hit send.

* * *

 

Phil kicked up his feet as he sat on the edge of the fountain, staring into the water as it rippled outward. Clouds were predictably blocking most of the sky, but a faint orange sunset reflected in the distorted pool as he watched. It was such a dull sunset.

He didn’t want to think. Why wasn’t Dan here yet?

Why hadn’t Martyn texted him since noon with an update on how Mum was doing? Maybe he had. Maybe Phil had missed it – 

Compulsively, he checked his phone again, and his heart performed a familiar jumping and sinking as its screen remained empty. No news.

“Hi.”

He jumped at the terse voice and turned to find Dan, hands in black skinny jean pockets, staring past Phil into the water, too. He looked pissed off, and Phil felt a sudden knot of worry in his throat that somehow, Dan was mad at him. Wrestling with that, Phil pushed himself to his feet.

“How’re you doing?” It was all pleasantries, Dan was still glaring into space.

Phil opened his mouth to say he wasn’t well, how it felt like the world had something wrong with it, everything had turned grey and frozen. But as Dan’s scowl turned to him, Phil couldn’t. Through the knot in his throat, he mumbled, “Fine. How are you?”

“Well, Jade’s being a shit best friend, so not great, thanks.” Dan glowered up at the sky for a moment, then sighed, massaging his temples, and looked back down at Phil. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a café…”

***

Phil barely remembered the food he ate, the conversations they had.

The café was nice, it was one of his favourites when he was willing to splurge, but everything tasted like dust and his words were stilted. At least Dan kept talking, and even if Phil couldn’t absorb the meaning of everything he said, it was drowning out his thoughts, and Phil was thankful.

Finally, Dan seemed to notice the absence of responses to his words while they were waiting to pay. His rant about his best friend came to a standstill suddenly, and Phil felt a touch on the back of his hand. His eyes refocused to Dan’s slightly anxious face. “Phil. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, ’m fine,” he muttered again. Dan didn’t look reassured, but as Phil forced a weak smile, Dan seemed to accept it with a mildly skeptical glance and turned the topic elsewhere – thankfully, once more to a place where Phil wasn’t required to give a great deal of input.

On their way out, however, Phil was surprised to feel Dan’s hand slip into his, and to look to his right and see Dan’s sideways glance before he looked up at the few stars peeking through the cloud cover. “Phil, would you mind...would you like to –  head to my house?”

Phil had nodded before his mind caught up. This wasn’t an innocent offer, was it? As Dan led him toward his waiting car, it dawned on Phil that this would probably be picking up where they left off, before Jade had interrupted. Did he want that right now? It was fine, he supposed numbly.

_ Well, at the very least _ , he reflected as he sat down next to Dan, staring out the dark window,  _ it’ll certainly be a distraction. _

***

The housekeeper opened the door for them, and Dan paused to exchange a few quiet words with her as Phil drifted down the entrance hall. It was still grand, still beautiful, and he wished he had the presence of mind to feel the same wonder he had his first visit. He reached the end of the hall, giant, floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking a backyard as polished as the rest of Dan’s property, trimmed, waist-high hedges lining a maze of pathways, elegant pots overflowing with flowers at every corner. Only Phil almost swore he saw a dark figure amidst the paths – probably a gardener, he realised a moment later – when Dan’s fingers were entwining with his again and Phil turned to him. The housekeeper had gone, it was only him and Dan now, and Dan, though trying to meet his gaze, seemed to be having trouble – his eyes kept slipping to the side.

“Phil,” he started awkwardly, “I just wanted to let you know, you can leave, if you want to. I’d understand completely.”

“It’s fine,” said Phil. It was, it really was.

“No,” Dan persisted. “Really, you can leave at any point. You can take my car and go home. And it’ll be all right.”

“Dan,” Phil said.

Dan looked at him, and Phil kissed him. It wasn’t the deepest kiss, but as Dan went still, Phil felt himself wanting to take it farther, wanting Dan to reciprocate, and gently, he probed deeper, fingers creeping up Dan’s jacket. He barely felt zipper teeth cut into his palms as he pulled Dan closer, and then Dan suddenly pulled back, a hand coming to his mouth, his eyes round.

“Phil!”

“Is something wrong?”

Dan’s wide eyes softened as he stared at Phil, and, as if in a daze, he shook his head. “No. No, it’s fine.”

He allowed Phil’s lips to meet his again, and his own hands crept around Phil’s shoulders as he kissed back. Then, hesitantly – as if  _ Dan _ had  _ ever _ been the shy one – his fingers came up to twist in Phil’s hair as he deepened the kiss.

It wasn’t until Dan ground his hips into Phil’s that Phil broke away, panting slightly. Dan’s forehead bumped his, his own breath coming in fits and gasps, his eyes half-shut but now firmly fastened on Phil’s.

“Should we – head upstairs to – ”

Dan’s fingers dug in further and he nodded. “Yes.”

* * *

 

As Phil’s back collided with Dan’s door, Dan blindly searched for the handle. He’d had something he’d wanted to do, to say to Phil, hadn’t he? But now he was lost in Phil’s kisses, he couldn’t think...

They hadn’t made it fully into his room before they’d been drawn back to each other, and Dan finally interrupted his breathless pecks at Phil’s lips to open the door, shoving Phil back toward the bed.

Phil landed, sitting back up immediately to meet Dan, who wasted no time in climbing on top of him, wrapping his legs around Phil’s hips. His lips crushed Phil’s as he pressed closer, coaxing Phil’s mouth open, exploring with his tongue. Phil’s hands were yanking off his jacket, and Dan reached to slide off Phil’s suspenders, fumble with the start of his shirt buttons, but only succeeding with the first few.

As they broke for air, Phil’s blue eyes glittered into Dan’s in the dim light. They’d darkened to a navy since Dan had draped himself across Phil’s lap, and Dan grinned smugly at this, letting his arms curl around Phil’s neck. Somehow, it was also a relief – Phil’s eyes had seemed curiously blank the whole night, a blank Dan hadn’t liked.

Raising a challenging eyebrow, he captured Phil’s lips and – it had worked earlier – ground into Phil. And it worked now.

A sharp inhale, a nip at Dan’s lip, and a sudden shove, and Phil was hovering above him.

Now Dan was the one inhaling. Phil’s face was deliciously dark, his hair rumpled, his lips bright red. And as he pinned Dan down, leaning in to trail lips across Dan’s exposed collarbone, Dan realised Phil was also very hard. So Dan did what was only natural as he fought back gasps at Phil’s feather-light kisses against his neck. He reached down to slip his hand into Phil’s pants.

Phil’s audible breath in Dan’s ear spurred him on, running his fingers up and down Phil’s length. Phil was growling now, retaliating with teeth at the side of Dan’s sensitive neck, and an embarrassing whimper escaped from Dan’s lips. Phil bit down harder and Dan shuddered, Phil’s hips rocking against Dan’s hand as his own hand slid down Dan’s body to rub the heel of his palm against Dan’s crotch.

“Phil,” Dan whispered.

“Yeah?” His lips caressed Dan’s bruising skin as he breathed the word, the movement of his hips only becoming more jerky as he ground down harder on Dan.

“Don’t stop.”

Phil didn’t stop, and Dan’s shirt was being ripped over his head, halting Dan’s hand before Phil’s lips continued their quest downward, stopping at the waistband of Dan’s jeans. Looking up at Dan through dark, full lashes, Phil had never looked so goddamn seductive – but then, there, a flash again of blankness, deadness in his eyes, but before Dan could stop him, question it, his belt was being undone, his pants unbuttoned, and Phil’s mouth was doing sinful things that forced Dan to grip the sheets and focus everything on not going over the edge immediately, and Phil’s fingers slid lower, a single finger pressing inward, and Dan tensed, gasping. “W-wait.”

Phil stopped, sitting up to meet Dan’s eyes. Through the haze, Dan twisted to feel for his side table drawers, fumble open the bottom one for the bottle tucked in its corner and hold it out to Phil, who was starting to unbutton the rest of his shirt. At his stomach, he hesitated. Dan realised the reason for the pause a moment later and dropped the lube to sit up and finish the buttons for him, sliding the shirt off and tossing it away before he gently ran his hands over Phil’s skin – maybe not stretched over many impressive muscles, but soft, peppered with the occasional freckle, imperfectly  _ beautiful _ .

Dan was so tired of perfect, this felt real and right and Phil was so goddamn gorgeous, he couldn’t stand it. He pressed a kiss to Phil’s chest before he turned his face up to catch a grateful look in Phil’s eyes, to meet Phil’s lips again.

Then Phil was sliding down Dan’s pants, his slick fingers slipping in, and he’d found Dan’s neck again, biting once more and rendering Dan helpless, and he was unzipping his jeans too, and when he slowly slid inside Dan, Dan could only clutch at him, his nails digging into Phil’s shoulder blades – surely drawing blood – and god,  _ he _ had to bite into Phil’s shoulder to muffle his voice that threatened to erupt with each thrust.

Only Phil pulled him away, pressing him back to the bed, and Dan tried to cover his mouth with his hands, but Phil grabbed those too, and if Dan wasn’t half-gone already, he’d have sent a good glare Phil’s way. But as it was, he could only moan brokenly as the heat in his stomach continued to build –  and the upturning of Phil’s lips caught Dan’s breath, because he hadn’t smiled all night, had he, and it did Dan in, and he was yelling, and Phil cut him off with his mouth as they rode it out together.

In the warm, satisfied aftermath, Dan became aware of Phil slumped on top of him, and with the last bit of strength he had, he wiggled out from underneath him, knowing he should probably find that box of tissues on his table to clean up. But as Dan’s head dropped onto Phil’s chest and Phil’s arm sleepily curled around his shoulders and he let the drowsiness overcome him, Dan couldn’t bring himself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY SMUT HAPPENED i might change rating to explicit yikes  
> and EDIT: my dudes i've never actually written smut before so i'm insecure af and sitting here as people read in silence just please tell me if it's shit honestly just say anything i'm dyin  
> -  
> it’s d+p BOTH wearin their wavyfoxtrot outfits for (the start of ;) ) their date yay please check [that cute frickin artwork inspired by the au out as it’s how i started this fic in the first place](http://wavyfoxtrot.tumblr.com/post/142818654968)  
> -  
> gUYS this was actual hell to post i’m sorry i got a new computer sat but it had issues like its CHARGER didn’t WORK and the refurbishing place i got it from isn’t open until tomorrow and sun was my birthday and i couldn’t find my broken oldest computer but i found it today(yesterday technically) and started typing it up FINALLY  
> ALSO OMG i finished my outline for the rest of the story once and for all and MAN it's much longer & more painful than i originally anticipated when i started this (i thought it would be a cute lil almost one-shot honestly but now this is like fucking war and peace) but just goDDAMN i’m excite to write it all so hopefully y’all will be just as excite to read it and not hate me by the end bc sometimes there's good shit but more often than not there's bad tbh  
> -  
> ONE MORE CHAP UNTIL PART ONE IS OVER SHIT MAN  
> 


	13. Ghost of a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOZ FRIENDS PREP YOURSELVES

Phil knew this feeling – waking up with a body pressed to his. Sleepily, he wondered if this was going to become routine, sharing a bed he’d slept in alone for so long. It would be nice, maybe. Maybe he could learn to feel better, having someone next to him.

Especially if it was this person. A soft head distinctly different from Simon’s lay cradled on Phil’s chest, brown hair twisting itself into loose ringlets. Its owner was naked and warm against Phil’s side, his arm draped comfortably around Phil’s middle, perfectly bronzed against Phil’s vampire complexion. And as Phil gazed down at a sleeping Dan’s face, he could forget for a moment. Watching Dan, his lungs didn’t feel tight. He wasn’t cold, not with Dan’s gentle breaths dancing across his skin. A spark of something, a flickering flame was coming to life deep in his chest, of fondness for this man, who was rude and brash and loud and cried at sad films and was so confident but also so  _ awkward _ , who could smirk so devilishly at turning Phil on and somehow also come up with this expression in his sleep – such an innocent face, face slack and lips parted, aging him backward to some adorable kid.

He could learn to feel better if he could wake up to this.

Except as Phil watched, he suddenly felt an odd pang of bittersweet urgency, that this moment was slipping away, he needed to capture it, to hold time in place for just a bit longer, and he reached to tighten an arm around Dan – and the moment was cut off with the unmistakable cheery chirp of Phil’s ringtone.

His fingers never reached Dan’s shoulder.

He knew. Even before he carefully pulled Dan’s arm from around him, before he slid Dan’s head from his chest to the pillow, before he climbed out of bed to reach the phone, which had stopped ringing. He was cold again as the voicemail pinged – spreading outward from his chest, the numbness was back and the darkness pressed against the edges of his vision, his fingers shaking as he unlocked his phone to listen to the despondent, muted voice.

She was gone.

Long after the phone screen had gone dark as Phil stared down at his brother’s name, the words ringing in his ears, Phil found his gaze drifting to Dan’s peaceful face, half-buried in the pillows. He looked so warm and content and  _ alive _ . In the middle of white, fluffy sheets and pillows, Dan seemed to glow, and as he shifted, reaching toward the spot in the blankets Phil had previously occupied, his brow wrinkled briefly – eyes still firmly shut – before smoothing back into its previously unmarred beauty.

He was beautiful, so beautiful.

Phil felt as if he’d exhausted all his vitality, every drop of life he’d had left in him. He wanted to slip back into the pile of sheets next to Dan, in the warmth, where maybe, if he wrapped his arms tight enough around Dan, if he didn’t let go, maybe some of all that Dan was would rub off on him –

Only Dan had never felt so far away.

Phil thought that if he were to try to brush one of those locks away from Dan’s forehead, card his fingers through soft curls, his hand would simply drift through Dan. Phil didn’t feel corporeal. Dan was a pleasant ghost of a dream, an oasis in the midst of a waking nightmare, and it was time for Phil to step out and into the real world.

He couldn’t pretend any longer.

* * *

Dan felt for the person he knew was there, in between the sheets next to him, not ready to wake up, but ready to pull Phil closer, because he’d moved too far away, and it was cold. Only he couldn’t find Phil, and this wasn’t right, no, this was all wrong.

Dan opened his eyes.

The bed was empty. The room was empty. Only Dan’s clothes littered the floor.

He sat bolt upright. “Phil?”

Maybe he’d gone downstairs, maybe he’d gone to find food, the raid the fridge, the cupboards –  _ fully clothed? _ Dan’s traitor brain wondered – surely, he was only –

Dan tumbled out of the bed – freezing, but the empty room was colder – fumbled around on the floor, his too-fast searching fingers clumsy; finding his underwear, he tugged it on and tore down the stairs. Where was he, he had to be here. “ _ Phil _ ?”

Not in the kitchen. Not in the media room, the living room, nowhere. Every last trace, his shoes at the door, gone, as if Phil had never even been here.

Dan dropped onto the bottom step of the staircase, feeling sick. Why had he – when they –

Could he really have just been a one night stand? After all this time?

And when he heard the knock on the door, he allowed himself for a moment to hope, it sprang up in his chest as he yanked open the door –

Disappointment flooded him at Jade’s face, but his anger from yesterday felt years away now when worrying about Phil being missing fell to the forefront.

“Dan, before you see it, I want you to know this was for your own good, all right?” Jade began, before he could even open his mouth.

“What are you talking about? Why are you even here? I thought –”

“You can’t get mad at me. I called some photographer friends, yes, and I did give them the password to your gate.” She looked an odd mixture of fearful and defiant, arms crossed, shifting nervously. “But I did it for you, all right?”

No, this wasn’t happening.

Something terrible, she’d done something terrible, and Dan felt a disgusting cocktail of nausea and dread and the anger at her that he’d thought he’d let go of rising in his stomach. “Jade.”

She stilled, staring at the ground.

He gripped the doorknob.

“What did you do?”

***

He was calling, and the phone was ringing, and Phil wasn’t answering.

_ God, he knew, he knew it all, it was plastered all over the internet, of course he knew already… _

How the hell could he have let this happen? How could he have let it get to this point? Why hadn’t he blurted it all out last night?  _ Why hadn’t he done it earlier? _

Why hadn’t he told Phil everything he’d done wrong, and everything he needed to do right now?

Why hadn’t he taken the time to mention that he didn’t think of Phil as a casual fling – that he never had, that, in a world full of cut-and-paste moulds, Phil was different, Phil was something special, and Dan wanted to spend more time than he had making sure Phil never forgot it, and knew just how Dan felt. That somewhere along the way, Dan had subconsciously realised that the eccentrically original Phil belonged in his life, somehow. Phil on Dan’s couch, in his kitchen, his bedroom. Dan had spent so much time altering the giant house, trying to make it look the way he wanted, but it never quite did.

Yet Phil made it look right, feel right. Even Phil’s flat – if Dan pictured those posters plastered on his walls, it was frightening how much it seemed like it just  _ fit _ .

Like Phil Lester and Dan Howell were meant to be something,  _ anything _ – so long as they were together.

Except now...Dan swallowed as the call dropped again. Now, he’d fucked it all up. But he could fix it, he had to be able to, it was only that he just had to keep calling, he had to talk to Phil, tell him –

The line was picked up.

“Phil? Oh, god, I’ve been trying to call you, I’m so sorry.”

There was a horrible, terrible pause, and then... “Oh, you’re sorry?”

Dan’s voice died in his throat. That wasn’t Phil. “What?”

“I’ll block your number.” Simon’s tone was cold, malicious. “Don’t call here anymore. Ever.”

“But I –”

“Listen. Phil doesn’t want to talk to you. And he never will.”

And the phone went dead.

* * *

The harsh tones breached Phil’s consciousness, and he forced himself to focus on the voice, and the figure it belonged to, hovering above him, just as the call ended.

“Who was that?”

Simon gave a small grimace, dropping Phil’s phone on the table and shifting to settle Phil more comfortably across his lap as he reached to fiddle with his own phone. If Phil’s mind was more present, perhaps he’d be able to detect the faint tinge of glee behind the expression. But Phil only felt numb as he watched Simon’s arm, connected to a hand that seemed to be stroking his head, only Phil couldn’t feel it.

“No one. It’s all right.” Simon gave a great sigh, and Phil felt compelled to force out more words. They came out lifeless.

“No, who was it?”

Simon licked his lips, and his eyes flicked to his phone screen again.

“It was Dan Howell.”

A jump in Phil’s chest. He’d called?

“It’s just...I don’t think you should see him anymore, Phil.”

Another jump, a faint simmer of anger.

“What?”

Phil didn’t see Simon’s screen, full of the morning news. He didn’t see the pictures Simon was scrolling through, had been since he’d woken up that morning with Phil still missing. Phil didn’t know Simon had stared at the pictures with his own fury growing inside, until he’d realised that these pictures were exactly what he needed, if he played his cards right.

As Simon took a last glance at the picture, taken through a beautiful, giant window – of Dan Howell and Phil Lester wrapped around each other, lips locked, the shot perfectly framed by the hedges of a landscaped garden – he marveled that Dan had provided him such a wonderful opportunity, a blameless segue with this phone call and this picture. Because how, indeed, could one get such a perfect, perfect photograph from inside a celebrity’s guarded yard…unless the celebrity let the photographer in? Or at least, how could this seem otherwise, when Simon knew what he did about Dan and his friends and his need for reputation?

And really, Simon was only following through on his promise to that idiot celebrity that last time that Phil had spent the night at his house. And Simon kept his promises. When he wanted to.

Phil wouldn’t leave him, not anymore. Now he would make sure of it.

He smiled with as much false regret as he could muster and looked down into Phil’s clear blue eyes. He let his thumb trail down Phil’s cheek.

“Phil, Dan’s been using you.”

* * *

END PART ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was the last chapter of part one! I'll probably upload part two in this work as well...I was contemplating splitting them into a series, but probs not.  
> WELP I'll be leaving you with this for a good couple weeks of getting into the whole not-living-at-home-and-being-an-adult-and-doing-proper-classes thing. I know I'm a great person, so I decided to let you enjoy yourselves stewing in this happy wonderful ending. ;)  
> When we pick up again, it'll be a year later, so see you then!  
> -  
> (i'm a hufflepuff i promise i'm actually sorry though)  
> -  
> also, if the story up to this point was just tl;dr, here's a lovely summation from my plotline:  
> "goddamn this had gotten dramatically out of hand he broke your fucking phone not your life you ridiculous diva dan wtf"


	14. Probably

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: suicide attempt mention, depression

PART TWO

* * *

 

A YEAR LATER

 

The blaring alarm shattered the silence, and Dan jolted awake, his chest heaving, because he could’ve sworn a second earlier, he’d just been sprinting full-tilt away from his death. His hair was matted with sweat, and as he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he shoved the sheets off, rubbing his eyes. His clothes were soaked through.

A bad dream. Again.

Why couldn’t he ever sleep anymore? Between his work schedule, nightmares, and insomnia, he felt like he was on the verge of actually going insane.

Isabelle wouldn’t like that. Maybe if he told her, she could get ahold of something that could properly knock him out again. But then, she was wary about giving him drugs now. He’d taken too many last time she’d gotten him a prescription.

It wasn’t like he’d meant to. He thought. Probably.

She’d been the one to fetch him that morning, and understandably, being forced to rush him to the hospital instead of a photoshoot had lost him some trust points.

Dan rubbed his itching, drooping eyes again and tried to heave himself to his feet. His legs protested, giving up his weight and dropping him back down on the bed. His whole body was sore.

Lately, when Isabelle made him go to the gym to work out, it seemed to hurt more than usual. His muscles protested every twist, pull, curl, and push.

Dragging himself to the bathroom, he washed his face, catching sight of himself in the mirror. He didn’t look much better than he felt. His cheekbones cut across his gaunt face, the shadows starker than he could ever remember, his bare torso bony, skin pulled tight around ribs. He tossed a shirt on, trying to ignore it, as he pulled out a toothbrush.

People on Instagram had been saying he’d been slimming down recently. Sometimes they’d celebrate it, him losing weight. Sometimes they’d worry about his health. Sometimes they’d say he was looking paler than he used to, less alive.

He could eat something, he should eat more. Probably.

He yanked on some jeans. The waistband was loose. He cinched a belt that at one point had barely fit him around his hips. It was too long.

Padding through his room to the window as his toothbrush traveled back and forth, the sky outside was grey, and water tapped against the window in a half-hearted fashion. He wished his chest didn’t feel so empty and grey as well.

“Dan.” The knock at the door roused him, and he pulled the brush from his mouth to open it.

Isabelle stood on the other side, her arms full of a paper bag smelling of warm baked goods and a stack of papers – half-done sketches he’d created forever ago, messy and uninspiring, but she’d been collecting them, for good reason. A reason he didn’t want to think about, but the reason she was here this morning.

She gave him a cursory glance up and down, grimaced (probably at his wrinkled jeans and stained shirt – his attire for when he was avoiding the outside world...which was most days), and pushed her way in. Dumping her stack on the bed, she rounded on him and planted her hands on her hips, her eyes raking more thoroughly over him now. “So. Have you had breakfast?”

“No,” he mumbled, turning away and heading back to the sink, turning on the water to maybe end the conversation. He wasn’t hungry.

“Hey.” Her sharp tone pulled him back, and she grabbed his shoulder, holding him in place. Her eyes were flashing, and he felt a pang of nostalgia, because Jade had looked at him like this before. But he hadn’t seen Jade since…

He carefully steered his thoughts away from those dangerous waters, because an empty chest seemed better than one ripping painfully apart, and focused once more on Isabelle.

“You’re eating breakfast before we do anything, and changing into something that’s actually clean.”

But what if he didn’t _want_ to do anything? What if lying in bed, trying to reach the sleep that never came sounded much more appealing than having to do anything she could offer to occupy him?

“Dan. We’re working today. You’ve barely gotten any relevant meetings done in the past month, and we’ve got a deadline.”

He could swear she could read his thoughts.

“Eat your muffin.” She stuffed the contents of her paper bag − a mass of dough and blueberries − into his mouth and started gathering up her papers again to leave the room. As the door swung shut behind her, he heard her toss a last comment over her shoulder. “And I’ve definitely learned to read you like a book by now, Dan.”

As he choked on the muffin, he thought she really was goddamn creepy.

But he was grateful she’d learned to read him, he thought as he pulled the car door shut behind him. Dully, he watched her chatter on, flipping through the papers. If she hadn’t, he didn’t know where he’d be.

“Hey.” She was waving a hand full of fluttering pages beneath his nose. He’d been spacing out again.

As he blinked at her, she stared back, a faint crease between her eyebrows. Pressing her lips together, she sighed and sat back, looking away once more.

She’d developed that expression a year ago. Quiet, tamped down worry, because when she worried out loud, he snapped, and broke, and wasn’t fine. He wasn’t fine when she silently worried either, but he felt mercifully hollow. Maybe not full, but not boiling over with emotions he didn’t want to touch anymore, either.

His eyes drifted over her face. The edges of her mouth, her forehead. Wrinkles. Faint wisps of hair at her temples. Early silver. He’d put them all there.

He shouldn’t lash out at people who cared when he was empty, who wanted him to be something like what he used to be. Probably.

***

“And Mr. Howell? What do you think?”

Dan started. The redheaded girl was looking expectantly at him from across the table. She was waiting for something from him. Helplessly, he looked around for Isabelle. Seeing his face, she sighed and nodded at the bespectacled young woman.

“Mr. Howell is feeling a bit tired. But I can approve these for him. Beautiful designs, truly.”

The girl looked doubtful as she cast another glance at Dan and then turned her head to look at the projection on the wall. She tapped a button, and the slide of a sketch of a fitted charcoal blazer sporting subtle ruffles changed to an asymmetric sapphire blue midi dress, clinging to a male form.

Dan stared at the drawing, a much-improved version of something he only vaguely remembered idly doodling once. How had he gotten into this small conference room with his manager and a fashion designer? How had this even happened?

Well, he supposed it had started when Isabelle had been trying to find something for him to do. Somehow, some offhand comment-or-other had started her down the path to designing and releasing his own fashion line, and now he was here, half-awake and only half-caring, where ideas he’d half-heartedly put forward were now perfected in full colour, projected on the wall.

He felt claustrophobic as the blue blurred before his eyes. He wished they could open a window. But it was raining outside, pounding against the pane now.

He liked that colour, blue. But he needed to get out.

“Those are wonderful, thank you, Eliza.”

That was the designer’s name. Dan would forget again in a few minutes.

“I think that’ll be all for today, though. Hopefully we can reconvene when Dan’s feeling better. Thank you so much.”

Isabelle even thanked people for him. She did everything for him these days.

“Thank you,” he managed to croak. Eliza The Fashion Designer shot him a weird look as she walked out the door. Probably because he hadn’t spoken a word to her until now.

Over and over again. The same silences, the same lost in space moments of confusion. It had been a year. Why wasn’t he better? Things were supposed to get better, weren’t they?

Why was he so exhausted?

“Dan. This is important. Listen.”

He forced his eyes to Isabelle’s face.

“Remember when I said that thing about a documentary?”

Dan tried to remember. “That I should think about it and maybe we’d look into it?”

“Well, that was a good few months ago and you never gave me your opinion. So we’re meeting the filmmaker today. We’re going to start filming this whole process of designing and creating your line as soon as he can finalise his crew.”

“What?” Something like nervous shock suddenly galloped through Dan’s chest.

“Relax, all right? He’s a very nice person, really creative. He says he’s seen some of your work...your old work, but anyway, he likes your style and what you’re doing and he really wants to create a beautiful, artsy thing out of this process.”

“Isabelle!”

“Don’t ‘Isabelle’ me, you’ve been lying around forever. If a film about you and your work is what it takes to get you out of this hole you’ve dug yourself into, I’m willing to get it together, Dan.”

He thought he might have seen tears in her eyes before she briskly turned away.

He should get out more and do things instead of worrying her.

Probably.

***

“Hey! I’m PJ, lovely to meet you, finally.” The filmmaker had a firm handshake and shockingly sea green eyes.

Dan thought this was probably the universe’s way of extending an opportunity to pull himself out of that hole and show Isabelle he could get better, but before he could rouse himself to make an (almost) equally enthusiastic response, his manager beat him to it.

“Hello, PJ! I’m Dan’s manager, Isabelle. Thank you so much for coming. We’re really −”

“− really pleased to meet you as well,” Dan interrupted firmly, and he could have almost sworn he heard Isabelle inhale in surprise.

PJ’s smile grew, and as he nodded happily and turned away to direct them to a table in the coffee shop, Dan glanced back at his manager. Isabelle was biting back a smile, and she blinked away a little more liquid in her eyes than normal as she met his gaze, waving him on to follow the filmmaker.

“I have some ideas, some topics we should cover about your trendsetting styles, how you don’t let gender roles define your fashion choices, you know...” And all of a sudden, PJ was the one spreading papers across the table, and Isabelle was nodding, smiling enthusiastically as she frantically took notes on her phone, and Dan gulped and forced his eyes to focus on all the notes and rough sketches of the documentary that sounded like it was inevitably headed towards being a major part of his life for the foreseeable future.

PJ turned out to be a very interesting conversation partner, Dan came to realise as he continued to try and push himself to participate in the discussion. As the conversation turned from strictly business to other topics, PJ’s wealth of imagination became obvious as he chattered on about short films and documentaries he’d directed and filmed in the past. Apparently he’d tried just about every position on a film set that was in the business, and enjoyed every one.

“But directing and cinematography are what I always return to.” PJ sipped at his tea as Dan stirred his caramel macchiato and Isabelle absently played with the sleeve on her own black coffee, reading over her notes and leaving Dan to fend for himself.

“So...what’s your favourite movie?” Dan finally asked in the new, awkward silence.

PJ groaned. “That’s like asking a parent to choose a favourite child. I can’t do it.”

He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t ask it... “Favourite Disney movie, then.”

“That’s terrible! No, I just can’t. What’s yours, then?”

No. Why had he done it? “B-Big Hero 6, I suppose.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a good one.” PJ, completely unaware, leaned back in his chair, tipping back his cup as Dan cut off the circulation in his fingers as he desperately wrapped them in his shirt.

He knocked his knee against Isabelle’s because she had to save him, they had to go, he’d been good today but he just _couldn’t_ anymore.

She glanced sideways at him, meeting his eyes. She knew in only a moment, stowing her bag and standing up to reach out to shake PJ’s hand. “Well, it was absolutely wonderful to meet you, PJ, thank you so much. We have some other appointments to head to, but we’ll see you very soon?”

PJ stood too as Dan rose, a ghost behind his manager, who was obviously brightly overcompensating for his lack of a voice anymore.

PJ still didn't notice. “Yes, Monday, I think? We can get some shots of Dan working with the designers and maybe a bit of a starter interview. I’ll also have a few people together to help. One of my friends I’ve wanted to work with for some time is going to be working with cameras and maybe doing some co-directing, he’ll be able to meet you both then. Just great, I’m really looking forward to working on this project!”

The hole in the middle of Dan’s chest had developed a normality about it over the past year, it didn’t hurt, it had just come to sap everything from him. But every time he tripped over a moment in conversation, a picture, a place that reminded Dan of _him_ , suddenly it was all fresh again, suddenly the pain ached through his whole body.

Dan trailed after Isabelle toward the car, clutching a fist of fabric over his chest, wishing the throbbing that still caught him off guard every time would just stop.

Things that hurt were supposed to get better. Weren’t they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT #2: REMINDER TO LOOK AT [THIS SICK FANART OF THIS CHAPTER/CHAPTER 7 THAT WAS JUST POSTED HOLY SHIT MARTY'S A GENIUS](http://martyoflungbarrow.deviantart.com/art/Film-Fashion-Fanfic-fanart-Chapter-7-14-640725931)  
> -  
> EDIT: hey babes i'm sick AS FUCK and missed a bunch of classwork that i have to make up so i'm not posting a chappie until i can catch up w/ it sorry see you asap with philly's year-after update!  
> welcome back lovelies!! happy first day of halloween i missed u so much i had lots of crazy college times and its only been what? like 3 weeks wtf it’s been like a lifetime (also imma try to stick to update schedule but no promises my class just started and we have to read 6 full books in one quarter & write a whole lot)  
> sorry it was super emo & real dramatic i’m trying to not actively hurt characters in the near future but they’re all already hurt so they got to heal y’know  
> also gotta bring the irl depression into the story bc describing what it's like is GREAT right it's not too real at all lol


	15. The Project

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: more general Simon grossness, manipulation n shit

“Babe. Baby, wake _up_.”

A hand trailing its way down Phil’s chest dragged him back to consciousness from some dream he wouldn’t remember, something he didn’t really care about – though it was definitely something better than his current reality if he woke up now − and he grabbed the fingers as they slid along his stomach. A giggle sounded in his ear.

He tried to mumble something intelligible into the first rays of daylight that were threatening to wake him up. “Stop, I’m trying to sleep.”

“Well, I have to go to work. And I thought a second round of last night – only without you being so boring – sounded nice before I left, yeah?”

Phil rolled over, trying to block out the light with his pillow. That sounded like the opposite of nice. “I’m tired.”

The hand crept up his leg this time, playing over his hip, and Phil sat up, angrily shoving his bedmate away. “Hey! Stop.”

The response was immediate. A glaring curl of the lip and pout, a roll of the eyes, and a resentful drawing back.

“You know, you’d think you weren’t even my boyfriend.” Simon glowered at Phil, who rubbed sleep out of his eyes, trying to wrap his drowsy brain around a possible solution to Simon’s anger, because he had to figure something out.

That was what he did in this relationship; fix Simon’s problems.

“Fine. I guess I’ll just go, then.” Simon slid off the bed and stomped toward the door. “You’re always so goddamn boring. You’re never into anything. Maybe I should find someone who actually wants me around instead.”

Phil was so tired. “Simon.”

He stopped in front of the door, arms crossed, resolutely not looking at Phil. “What.”

“Simon, please.” It wasn’t an irritated tone, he couldn’t be irritated with Simon, it would just make things worse. No, Phil had to plead with Simon, and he had to hear the begging in Phil’s voice to be satisfied, so Phil gave it to him.

“Please what?” Simon turned to scowl at Phil, arms still folded.

“I’m sorry.”

Simon’s expression barely softened, but he crooked a finger at Phil, who exhaustedly pulled himself from the bed and padded across the room to stand in front of Simon. Simon raised an eyebrow and Phil bit back a sigh, leaning in to press what was meant to be a quick peck to his boyfriend’s lips, but Simon wrapped his hands around the nape of Phil’s neck, pulling him in as he deepened the kiss. When Simon finally broke away, he smirked.

“You can prove you’re sorry tonight.”

“What?”

“Prove it to me.”

“I can’t. Not tonight,” Phil amended hastily as Simon’s eyebrows drew together, another storm brewing in his eyes. “Remember? I have that new job thing?”

“Ah, yes. That _project_.” Simon rolled his eyes, and there was a little stab of exasperation in Phil’s chest, but the crisis was averted, and that was all he cared about. “You still have to prove it to me tonight.”

“But −”

“I’ll pick you up afterwards. And I expect payback.” Simon grinned and playfully shoved Phil back towards the bed, watching as he wrapped himself back up in the blankets. And as Phil began to slip back into blissful sleep, he was drowsily aware of Simon’s fingers stroking his forehead and more soft murmurs.

“Remember, Phil. I’m all you need.”

***

When Phil woke up, it was to an empty room. Simon was gone, and now Phil had to work. That was the routine, and that was what they stuck to.

And god, was Phil sick of it. All of it. He was sick of all the mess that was him and Simon every day, but he was also sick of being lonely when Simon wasn’t there anymore. When there was no one to talk to because he was gone (although could he talk to Simon? Really?), when Simon spoke of finding someone else, because Phil was replaceable to Simon, but Simon just _wasn’t_ to Phil. There wasn’t anyone else he could turn to.

But later today...for once, today held tantalising new possibilities. Today would be the start of something new, something he’d been looking forward to since the unexpected email had first come through – a project, where there would be people who might actually be his friends, new content he wouldn’t be digging out of his own tired brain, and finally, a uni friend he’d missed for far too long.

But for now, it was time to continue his own personal projects, in particular, one he’d been scraping away at for far too long. The video he’d been scripting over the past few days wasn’t his normal fare, but TV series or not, Phil had obsessively watched and re-watched _Stranger Things_ , and he was making a video on it, no matter what objections any audience members of his channel might have. Besides, the million and one references and themes to 80’s movies he’d covered in the past were so prevalent that it _counted_ , he’d told himself. He could probably talk about nothing but homages to some of his favourite classic films and still make a decent video that was plenty long and interesting enough anyway.

Who was he kidding? It wasn’t as if he’d been finding a lot to excite him recently, and if a TV show rather than a film was what actually unstopped his writer’s block, then he was going to make a video about it.

If only he could stop screwing up every take with the nerves of what was going to happen in only a few hours.

“Hi, guys! Today we’re covering the wonder – the wonderful... Hi, guys – Hi, guys, today we’re −”

He sighed. Maybe he’d come back to the intro. “You may recognise many of this – oh, god.” He kept stumbling over every word, his tongue felt too heavy and slow. Tongue twisters weren’t the answer, he messed those up too.

It would be great to leave with no footage to show for a day’s work. Scratch that, it would be even more wonderful to show up at his new place of work not being able to speak properly.

He took a deep breath. He could clear his head. His brain was always buzzing these days, confusing and loud and stupid. He just needed to breathe.

“Hi, guys. Today, we’re covering the wonderful world of the reimagined 80’s horror film in the form of everyone’s newest favourite television programme – Stranger Things.”

And he was off.

By the time his phone buzzed in his pocket, reminding him it was time to leave soon, Phil was just daring to think he might be filming the last takes he needed.

“So leave me a comment with what movie −” he paused and grinned sheepishly “− or TV series, I suppose − that you want critiqued, complimented, or criticised, and I’ll see you next time!”

There. Done. He was done, and it was all great, and now he just had to dress himself and find a cab, and god, what was this bubbly feeling in his chest? He could barely remember the last time he’d felt so excited for _anything_.

The clothes he threw on had been preplanned, more than just the barely-decent shirt he wore around the house on video filming days. Fixing his hair was a careful process, done with nervously excited, shaking hands.

He couldn’t say what it was, but something about this project felt as if he was on the verge of something big. Something he’d been waiting for, for a long time.

So it was with a dry mouth and happy butterflies in his stomach that he locked the door to his and Simon’s flat behind him.

***

“Phil! Oh my god!”

Phil was practically bowled over by an enthusiastic mess of limbs and curls as he stepped out of his cab. Phil only just managed to catch a glimpse of an impressive-looking office building before he was knocked backward. Surprised giggles erupted from Phil’s chest as he wrapped his arms around his old friend – he’d missed him, so much.

“PJ, I can’t film for you if I can’t breathe.”

PJ Liguori stepped back, sweeping hair from his bright eyes as he grinned back at Phil sheepishly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Sorry, mate, it’s just been _so long_. It’s been ages since uni, and I’ve barely seen you since!”

“I know. I’ve just been...busy, you know?”

“Yeah, busy with your boyfriend? I’ve seen on Facebook. Back together with him, eh?” PJ poked him in the ribs, wiggling his eyebrows.

Phil rolled his eyes. “The point is, I’m here now. Tell me about your project.”

PJ bounced on the balls of his feet. “This is going to be amazing. _Augh_ , Phil, I’m just so excited!”

“All right, all right,” Phil laughed. PJ seemed to simply be permanently excited about everything. Especially films. “What do you have for me?”

“At the minute, some beautiful cameras that cost me a fortune and a bare-bones crew because no one wants to work on my project with me.”

“So, the usual.”

“Don’t be a dick, Philip.” PJ smirked, linking his arm through Phil’s and leading them through the big glass doors and into a giant glass-and-marble lobby. “I’m a visionary. It’s not my problem nobody appreciates my subject matter.”

“What’s the subject this time?” Phil peered around the plush interior as they passed the receptionist, busy behind a monster of a welcome desk. He only just spotted an abstract-looking logo on the wall behind her as they passed down a classily-carpeted hallway and out of sight, passing doors upon doors.

“Didn’t I email you the premise of the documentary?” PJ pulled him into a lift and pressed the button for the sixth floor.

Phil raised an eyebrow. “No, you told me to show up here, at this time, to work with you on one of your ‘biggest projects to date.’ There were no actual details, Peej.”

“All right, then. Weeeeell, I’ve been hired.”

“How? Who would hire you −”

“That’s definitely enough needling from somebody who’s barely spoken to me in who knows how many years. You owe me.” PJ leaned against the wall of the fancy little box of a room, sticking out his lip pitifully.

“Fine.” Phil has missed this, though. PJ had teased him from day one of their first class together, and Phil had poked fun at him right back. It had been a different kind of teasing than from Simon, left behind at the time for what Phil had hoped would be a better life – but all roads just led right back to him. PJ and Phil teasing each other meant light-hearted banter and laughing, not tiny barbs hidden beneath jokes made at Phil’s expense.

He needed to stop thinking about Simon right now. PJ was here, and he hadn’t seen PJ in too long, and PJ’s project was important to him, so Phil wanted to give him the full attention he deserved.

“Anyway, I was hired by this guy to film a documentary about his brand and all the things he’s doing right now. For promotional purposes, very rich snob stuff. He’s really into the fashion industry, and he’s getting into releasing his first line of clothing as we speak, and listen, don’t say anything, but he’s a bit insane. Especially lately. He used to just stir up trouble because he was a bit of a hot-headed idiot, apparently, but now he’s been out of the public eye and everyone says he’s out of it − barely goes outside anymore, even. I think his manager had to really push to get him to do this documentary, just to start creating the line. Just wanted to fill you in before you had to film, so you’re not surprised if anything happens.”

“Huh.” Somewhere along the line of PJ’s ramblings, a bad feeling had seized Phil’s stomach. A sinking, dark, disgusting feeling of dread. Dread that he didn’t want to acknowledge, because maybe he was wrong, maybe his gut instinct was incorrect and Phil hadn’t stupidly signed up to be co-director on a film about the person he least wanted to see.

Maybe he was just being paranoid and dumb.

But every time he opened his mouth to ask the name of the person who would be the object of the documentary, his throat closed over.

As the lift doors slid open with a pleasant _ding_ , Phil tried to ignore the churning of his stomach as he stepped out into the hallway. Instead of solid walls and countless doors leading to what Phil had assumed were offices, a floor-to-ceiling glass wall separated him and PJ from a giant room with a huge table and countless chairs scattered around. Blackout blinds covered most of the glass, save the doors into the space, and Phil could just make out cool purple light spilling across the floor – an interesting, dynamic choice for illumination but likely the opposite of useful in most steps of actually designing a clothing line. But then, PJ had never been the biggest stickler for realism over art.

As PJ pulled the doors open and led him in, Phil took in the mini-set PJ had already created, complete with maybe four people dressed in plain crew wear, bustling around and adjusting everything. As PJ stepped in, they all glanced up, but before anyone could say anything, a woman blocked PJ’s way.

“Are we finally ready? I’m sorry, but we really are on a bit of a tight schedule, PJ.”

“Of course. This is my friend and co-director, Phil. Just let me get him started on the set and then we can talk.”

Upon taking her in, the warning bells in Phil’s head were going at full blast now. He’d seen her before, this professionally-attired woman with a tasteful phone in her hand and a business-like air about her. And as her eyes turned to his and suddenly widened, Phil knew without a doubt.

In a daze, he nodded to her as PJ pulled him past her, towards where the lights were pointing, the end of the long table, where a red headed woman sat, impatiently flipping through papers, and a man was standing. A blond crew member was hovering in front of him, touching up a slightly excessive amount of makeup on his face and affixing errant curls more securely into his hairstyle.

“Everybody, meet Phil! He’ll be co-directing with me, and he’s lovely, so I’m sure we’ll all get along famously. Phil, you can check in with Louise and she can give you the run down, I have to chat with Isabelle for a minute.”

Three things happened all at once. PJ’s warm hand left Phil’s shoulder. The violet light caught Dan Howell’s face as he turned to look at Phil. And Phil felt cold again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to stop editing notes and calm down but one last EDIT: i was having an awful day but then a million and one comments about how everyone loved this chapter showed up and it made my day a lot ?? (esp since i honestly felt like this chapter was shit because i felt all off my writing game) and then martyoflungbarrow posted [an absolutely lovely fanart of chapter 7/14 which i should probably stop yelling about everywhere but it's just so pretty and cute so plz do check it out](http://martyoflungbarrow.deviantart.com/art/Film-Fashion-Fanfic-fanart-Chapter-7-14-640725931)  
> just basically thanks so much everyone my life was sucking majorly and u made it really not like i'm so happy even tho everything is going wrong lol y'all are just so sweet with me and my trash writing and stupid update "schedule" and i'm being so grossly emotional about this dumb lil fanfic but IT MAKES ME HAPPY MAN  
> -  
> *updates after another year* no it was a week  
> sorry i was sick as hell with strep and complications and had to catch up on a pile of class work (which is still not finished) and also acquired a really fucking cute datemate cuddlebuddy person??????? a lot happened anyway so???


	16. Violet Foxes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL SHIT MAN THAT TOOK WAY TOO FUKCIN LONG

What had he done to deserve this? Why was this happening to him?

How was Phil numbly manning PJ’s best camera as he shot Dan Howell bending to intently pore over the designs of the woman beside him, sketching his own designs, posturing according to PJ’s shouted instructions – Dan Howell, who had fucked him up, Dan Howell, who had already been at what Phil would have considered the peak of his success when they’d last met, but Dan Howell, who was now soaring even higher above him, making his own documentary, releasing his own line of clothes.

Doing just fine after breaking and leaving Phil.

Beautiful in the violet light, all cheekbones and eyelashes. PJ had made a good choice.

“Cut! Great, great. Let’s take that one again! Reset!”

Dan’s eyes flickered upward as the designer moved back to her original position, gathering up her papers to organize them. Those eyes glided over the lights, the crew, towards Phil, and Phil thought maybe they’d drift right by him, but Dan’s gaze stuck just a second too long, and Phil had to look away.

It made Phil angrier than he should have been, feeling Dan’s eyes on him. Doing what Phil couldn’t do − unabashedly staring.

Where did he get off, looking at Phil for so long? Wasn’t he some stupid diva who’d used Phil and moved on with his life? Shouldn’t he have forgotten Phil by now?

“Phil! Reset! C’mon, we haven’t got all day.”

His face was probably red now as he adjusted his camera, and what did the famous model think of that? Nothing, apparently, as Dan’s eyes were glued once more to his papers as Phil looked up to retake the shot. Goddammit, why did he have to be professional and unreadable and...

By the time they’d taken the assortment of purple shots that Phil had to stumble through, trying to stay in the present, trying to ignore the subject matter he framed in his lens, trying to mask his slow breaking down, he was exhausted.

Drawing his fingers from where they’d been firmly clenched around his equipment, he tried to ignore their trembling. Now wasn’t the time for physical complaints, he was working, he had to focus on this job that his friend had given him, a job he’d been looking forward to for so long, a way out of the house, to distract himself.

He clamped tight, still-slightly-shaking-fists under his crossed arms as he stepped back to let PJ’s tiny crew swarm the set. They were beginning the process of dismantling the impromptu blackout room, allowing small bits of grey sunlight to once more invade the space.

He didn’t want sunlight. In the sunlight, he could see Dan. And Dan could see him.

He thought maybe he could escape for a bit, if he fell into the shadows of the lights and cameras. Maybe no one would notice, or maybe only PJ would, and it was fine if PJ came to engage with him, he might be able to pretend with him, but no.

Instead of his familiar friend, the blond woman who’d been applying makeup and styling hair drifted into the space next to him, her eyes on him as she beamed in a approachable way that often meant in social situations that conversation was expected, regardless of a person’s current mental state. She’d spoken to him earlier, an overview of what they’d set up, what Phil was here to do, and now she wanted to talk further. And Phil was supposed to oblige, because that was what people did.

“How are you doing, Phil? Having fun? Have you ever worked on a set before?”

He couldn’t remember her name, she was smiley and loud but he couldn’t do this right now.

“Yes.”

“That’s lovely!” There was an awkward pause in which she obviously was waiting for him to elaborate. He didn’t. She seemed to realise he had no clue who she was.

“I’m Louise, by the way, I’m doing makeup and hair and all the little odd jobs PJ needs done. Have you two been friends long?”

He didn’t know how she was still trying to keep this dying conversation alive. She might as well have been performing CPR on a corpse.

“We went to film school together.”

“Oh, that’s just −”

They both blinked, blinded, as the last window covering came down, the light catching them both in the eyes, and as Phil squinted away the brightness, his gaze came to rest on the figure leaning against the wall, now fully illuminated.

Maybe Louise heard Phil’s quiet intake of breath, but she was politely silent about it. Maybe she noticed him staring shamelessly now, but she didn’t say anything. She probably realised he’d gone still and was no longer paying any attention to her whatsoever, and if Phil had fully registered her wandering away mutely, he would have appreciated it.

The tall, almost stick-like figure outlined against the window was almost swimming in a loose, off-one-shoulder black shirt hanging off the slender arms that he hugged around himself. One skinny, denim-clad leg folded over the other as he sagged backwards against the wall. His dark red combat boots shone even in the cloudy lighting as he gazed at the ground, and in that gaze was too many things Phil hadn’t been able to see under the violet lights.

Everything was all wrong. Dan’s limbs cut through the soft folds of his clothes like knives, too long and lean arms and legs jutting out sharply. Underneath glitter and concealer, under those long dark lashes fluttering, Phil could see puffy bags. Lines not there before pulled down his mouth, his eyes. He looked exhausted and miserable and ready to crumple to the ground at any moment. God, he seemed about to snap in half.

Why did he look like that? What was wrong? Why couldn’t Phil go and demand what he thought he was doing, looking after himself like that?

Why couldn’t Phil go and...

Dan’s eyes flicked to his. Phil’s chest tightened, and he turned away.

Because Dan had hurt him, had used him up and hung him out, that was why. He hadn’t cared, that was what made sense, that was what Phil had been telling himself for a year, to cope. It had all been a ruse, and he was better off without Dan.

But in the depths of his brown eyes, there was pain. Phil knew with frightened certainty that Dan’s gaze was begging for something, somehow, and he shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have acknowledged Phil at all, because _Dan didn’t care_.

It had been a goddamn year. It was time Phil let every stupid memory and feeling he’d thought he’d had go and followed Dan’s suit.

He needed to stop caring. 

* * *

 

“So what got you into the world of fashion, Dan?” PJ watched him intently, a keen grin stretching his face. If Dan wasn’t a mess, he’d appreciate PJ’s overwhelming cheeriness about everything, even as Dan stumbled over his interview, mumbling his way through semi-rehearsed answers.

“Well −” Dan struggled to remember, his eyes flicking to the notecards Isabelle held out behind the camera. They’d come up with basic answers for each question, thank god, or Dan probably would just be stuttering incoherently through this whole thing.

Modeling in front of the camera, he could do. Posing and twisting his body to hold every uncomfortable position a photographer called for, he was used to. But talking was proving to be all too hard when he’d never been more hyperaware of the person behind that camera.

The edges of the hole in Dan’s chest felt more jagged than usual every time he thought he might have caught Phil’s eye, only to have the man turn away. Phil seemed determined not to look at him, not to even acknowledge his existence.

Seeing him standing stock-still next to PJ had felt like a punch in the gut. Why was he here? When he still seemed to entirely despise Dan?

Dan had been doing so well today, too. He’d gotten up after hitting snooze only three times. He’d dressed himself, he’d made a blog post and gone through Instagram. He’d eaten an actual lunch. Isabelle had smiled at him when he’d jogged up to the car with two minutes to spare for her proposed leaving time, and he’d gotten to the location and managed to make something like acquaintance-friends with a few crew members before it all came crashing down.

“Dan?”

“Oh, fuck, sorry. I...”

Dan forced his focus onto the matter at hand. “I...I liked dressing up a lot as a kid, and my mum’s best friend was a model, and she used to let me follow her around backstage at fashion shows. My mum was really supportive, she started doing my makeup and finding me clothes to wear to the shows, and I...”

Phil’s hand readjusted its grip on the camera. It was shaking.

“I...fell hard. For the fashion world.”

“That’s lovely. What inspired you to create this collection?”

_My manager. I sure haven’t been able to do anything a halfway functioning human could on my own for a while._

“I wanted to make something that was my own. I wanted to...express myself. Find something that was just mine.”

His fingers were so tightly wrapped around the equipment, leaving little ribbons of white and then red as he shifted them again and again.

Dan answered the rest of the questions staring at Phil’s hands.

***

“Really great, Dan.” PJ was patting him on the shoulder.

That was a bald-faced lie, Dan thought, feeling his cheeks burn. He’d been a terrible film subject ever since PJ’s assistant director had stepped through the doors.

“We might have to reshoot a few things, today seemed like a bit of an off day for you, but overall, wonderful, honestly.”

Ah, a truth wrapped in a lie.

“I’m really sorry. I’ll do better tomorrow. I promise.” He felt ashamed, an ugly, tired feeling he’d worn out over the past few months of repetitive hours upon hours of mediocre work.

Today was supposed to have been something else. He’d come here determined to push himself, to work through the haze and make something he could be proud of. For Isabelle’s sake, because he worried her too much. For PJ’s sake, because seemed so unbelievably excited about this project. Maybe even a little for his own sake. Because he was sick of everything being grey.

But instead of trying harder and making something good, something even just decent, he’d delivered one of his worst performances to date.

God, Dan hated himself.

“No harm done! We’ll pick up here to retake a few interview shots tomorrow, but for now, I’m off. I’ll see you then!”

And he was out the door before Dan could properly explain himself, apologise again. He started after PJ.

“Dan.” Isabelle caught his arm. “I’ll see what I can do about all this. I can have Ph – I can have the crew reassessed. I can tell PJ to look for a new assistant director. Don’t worry.”

“No, I −”

“Hey, you were completely out of it. It’s understandable. But we can’t have that. He shouldn’t even be here. I don’t know what he was thinking, showing up in the first place.” She sounds angry, on his behalf. He wasn’t angry. He didn’t know why.

“Listen, I’m going to go see if I can catch PJ. It’s all right. I’ll handle this. We can still make this work, Dan.”

Another pat on the shoulder, and she was gone too.

He found himself staring out into the darkening street, cars speeding by. The lobby he was standing in was quickly emptying, crew members and workers trickling out one by one.

He fixated on the pure white of the floor, watching bland Oxfords and colourless kitten heels pad and click across his vision, until empty tiles stretched through the quiet lobby once more.

He glanced up to confirm his solitude, but a pair of grimy toes caught his eye – old trainers, peeking out from beneath half-formal slacks, like its wearer had planned more appropriate footwear, but had rushed out the door without finding them − or perhaps had simply forgotten to change his shoes altogether.

Dan swallowed, but couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised when he let his eyes trail upward to find the trainer-wearer was _him_ , sitting slumped on a couch, tapping dully away at his phone and paying no attention to Dan’s presence. His blue eyes affixed to the screen. His blue, blue eyes.

A flash of a fox sock underneath the slacks’ hem.

Words swelled up in Dan’s chest, unsaid things choking his throat, and he took a few involuntary steps before he’d even realised he was moving across the lobby.

He paused and took a deep breath. 

* * *

 

“Phil.”

Phil stiffened. The voice was hoarse and familiar, and as he looked up, he realised the lobby was empty except for the two of them.

Of course it was. The world just worked that way, didn’t it?

“Phil,” he said again, and Phil was dragged into beautiful brown eyes.

He looked so small, giant that he was, so tiny and vulnerable as he stared at Phil, just-too-far away, still with an excess of angles and limbs, weariness stamped across his face.

But he couldn’t afford sympathy. He couldn’t listen to the quiet flutter of worry in his chest. He felt too cold.

Phil spared a glance as Simon’s text of “ _omw_ ” popped up on his screen and shoved his phone into his pocket, folding his arms. As far as he was concerned, Simon couldn’t get here fast enough.

“What is it?” he muttered.

“Phil, I’m...I’m sorry.”

He should be. So, so sorry.

“I never...I never meant...”

“Well, it happened.” Phil’s voice was harsh to even his own ears. “It doesn’t matter whether anything was meant.”

He stopped, drawing backward, silenced.

Phil stared at the cushion of the couch, picking at a tiny thread in the new quiet.

He couldn’t do this anymore. He wouldn’t.

“Why did you come?” It was a tiny whisper, a tone of desperation, of lost hope.

Phil felt his phone buzz in his pocket and stood. “I didn’t mean to. And don’t worry, I won’t be back.”

“Phil, wait, please, I −” 

* * *

 

Phil was sweeping out the doors and past Isabelle and PJ, engaged in conversation, down the pavement toward a car stopped at the curb.

Dan was following – everything felt slower than usual, but Phil was walking away, faster than Dan could move, and he couldn’t let this happen again – only it was happening, and he hadn’t realised just _what_ was happening until the driver got out of the car.

Dark déjà vu crawled up his spine, he’d been here before, a fight with Phil and a driver coming to console him, to take him away. But instead of a hug, the sandy-topped figure reached for Phil to pull him into a deep kiss, arms lazily wrapping around Phil’s neck.

Dan screeched to a halt, his whole body prickling.

“Phil! Can I talk to you?” PJ called out, Dan standing in the doorway behind him, unnoticed by the whole group.

Phil broke from the embrace seemingly reluctantly, his own arms looped around Simon’s hips. Bile was rising in the back of Dan’s throat as Simon raised an eyebrow, searching Phil’s eyes as if daring him to answer.

“I’ll...I’ll call you, okay? Tonight. I need to go.”

Simon nodded, an approving smirk twisting his features as he leaned in for another kiss before opening the door and stepping in.

He hadn’t even seen Dan.

Dan wasn’t worthy of Simon’s notice.

“All right. Have fun!”

Phil threw a last glance over his shoulder, maybe to originally respond to the teasing in PJ’s tone, but his eyes caught Dan’s. He opened his own door, his face blank, his gaze icy. The word seemed meant for PJ, but the finality with which he said it let Dan know it was for him more than anything.

“Bye.”

The door slammed, and the car sped away.

PJ and Isabelle’s conversation filtered back into Dan’s consciousness as PJ rubbed his neck uncomfortably and Isabelle shifted between feet.

It was important, this discussion, he needed to say something.

“I mean, you’re absolutely sure, Isabelle? We can’t work something out? I know Phil, he’s great, he’ll really do great on this project, you won’t reconsider −?”

“Yes.” Dan stepped out into the cool air, between his manager and the documentary director. The hole was still there, painful and widening, ripping into his chest. Honestly, this was probably the way to hurt himself further, but Dan was a fucking masochistic idiot, apparently.

“I’ll only continue this project if he assistant directs.”

He couldn’t let it end this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi: i have zero idea what actual professional filming entails this is a terrible unrealistic documentary set but y’know i’m tired af of trying to research things you have to experience in person (so y’know PJ is just a weird director ok that’s this fucking terrible fic’s excuse)  
> also THIS IS GENERALLY SHIT I’M REALLY SORRY I’M SO OUT OF IT LATELY ON WRITING MY OWN STUFF WHICH PISSES ME OFF  
> i mean some of it is in character but AGGHHHH  
> -  
> u kno what’s cool? skipping out on updates just when ur readers are being especially sweet i’m so sorry my life went to shit for a good while there bc college and my body be cray but i got to go to my fave anime convention w/ cool friends and my cute frickin datemate (and got my cosplay complimented by one of my yt cosplay idols BUT I WASN’T FREAKING OUT OR ANYTHING)  
> but i hope your halloween was satisfyingly spoopy and as cute as u are babes  
> (also again just everyone was super sweet with their reviews and stuff last chapter (like fukin fanart what the fuck i’m still low key in shock and so BLESSED??? marty is amazing??!!?) and i promise being bad at updates will not be the response to this should it happen in the future i will be better ;_;)


	17. Bribery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi: Simon/Phil low key sorta not really smut ahead soz (and simon is gross as per usual, get 150% consent every sexytime u attempt kids)  
> most of the sexy scene is memories of NOT simon tho ;) but if you don’t want a part of any of it just skip to the next section when phil’s like “i’ll send home my pay cheque”

Phil exhaled as the line picked up. “I can’t come back, PJ. I’m sorry.”

PJ chuckled. “Wait, wait, wait.”

“I’m quitting. I have to drop the project.”

“No, listen, Phil −”

It was only half a lie, so the line was easier to roll off his tongue. “It’s been fun, but I realised now’s just a terrible time for me, I need to make sure my channel stays afloat −”

“ _Phil!_ Listen.”

Phil shut up.

“You have to come back. You’re _going_ to come back. Because you just got a major raise. They’re upping our budget, the star of the show decided to dip into his own funds to help us out −”

Oh god, more money? Phil hadn’t been cranking out videos on a regular enough basis lately, and while Simon’s job paid some bills, Phil was edging towards desperate.

But...

“PJ −”

“ _And..._ ”

Phil sighed. “And?”

“We’re going on location.”

“What?” _Location?_ What on earth did that mean?

“Well, apparently Dan’s been long overdue for a holiday. So we’re accompanying him to Hawaii. _All-expenses-paid._ For a _month_.”

That was possibly the smuggest tone Phil had ever heard out of PJ’s mouth. The worst thing about it was that PJ had a right to be smug. And it pissed Phil off.

“...When?”

“Oh, whenever you can get your bags packed. Make sure you toss in some swim trunks, tanning will do you good.”

“Shut the hell up, PJ.”

“So...I take it you’re back on my film crew?” He was snickering.

Phil rolled his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last holiday he’d had, and the thought of feeling warm sun baking him alive was blissful.

But god, was he agreeing to this? When it would mean...

“Whatever. Fine.”

“Text me when your suitcase is full, Philly, and I’ll let everyone know.”

_Click._

_Slam._

Phil groaned as he pulled his head back up from where he’d just smashed it down into the table and massaged his forehead.

Well, he’d brought this on himself.

* * *

 

“Dan, I swear to god. You’ll be the death of me.”

Dan pressed the makeup wipe into his eye, trying to swipe away gold flecks. He loved glitter, though it liked to find its way into every nook and cranny of every single surface, including the pores of his face. But he couldn’t really bring himself to care as he hummed some tune from the radio that had been stuck in his head. It was pleasant. _Everything_ felt pleasant.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“ _Daniel Howell._ ”

“Yes, Mother?”

Isabelle rolled her eyes as Dan straightened up, still scraping at his face with the wipe. He was smiling, but she wasn’t letting him off that easily.

“Sass me like that again and I’ll call your actual mother.”

An actual, half-serious gasp escaped Dan. “You wouldn’t. I haven’t seen the old bat in a year for a reason.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she admitted. “I know how she goes on and on about how you should be working more. And I wouldn’t especially since it’s been too long since you last sassed me.”

“Are you inviting more sass?” Dan wiggled his eyebrows.

“Dan, listen. I appreciate this...this new Dan, where you aren’t just tired and sad all the time. You’ve been scaring me, and seeing you looking happy is wonderful. But is all this really a good idea?”

Dan sighed, tossing the damp, glittery ball into the bin and bringing the box of wipes in to fall back on his bed. “I don’t really want a lecture, Isabelle. I just...it was a split-second decision. And I don’t regret it.”

“Shelling out money like nothing is a _split second decision_? PJ _told_ you it was too much, but you insisted. PJ said he’d agree to stay on with only a little persuading, but −”

“You didn’t hear him. He wasn’t coming back. But now...now he is.”

Dan reached to unlock his phone and skim once more over PJ’s last text. “ _Operation Holiday is go – with Phil Lester on board._ ”

PJ had been inquisitive about why Isabelle had been insistent Phil leave, and then, when Dan had sworn up and down that he actually wanted Phil to stay, but that Phil planned to hand in his own resignation, he’d been downright puzzled. But with the dazzling promises Dan had made of upping his and Phil’s pay _and_ covering a trip, he’d swallowed his questions. He’d promised Dan he wouldn’t ask anything else of him, and he’d promised he’d ask Phil to stay.

And now...against all odds...Phil was staying.

Which was why Dan couldn’t seem to permanently wipe the grin off his face that kept bubbling up, along with persistent, excited half-giggles. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d grinned from ear-to-ear, let alone been unable to stop.

_Phil was staying._

Maybe, just maybe, that meant...there was a chance. Dan could make things better.

But that was too optimistic, too much of Dan expecting Phil to just accept his apology and even concede to being _friends_.

Dan just needed to hope that this could give him the opportunity to tell Phil he shouldn’t have done what he had done, and he was sorry, and if Phil refused his apology, Dan needed to be okay with that. Honestly, it was what he deserved. Phil had every right to still not want to talk to him.

But something about the fantastically unreal text of “ _Phil Lester on board_ ” lent a dreamy, hopeful tint to the future Dan hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

“Dan?” Her voice was soft as it popped the bubble of thoughts he’d immersed himself in. “So, you don’t regret this. Then do you want to tell me anything about...all of this?”

He looked down at her as he scrubbed his cheek. She was perched on the edge of the comfy armchair next to his closet, clean and pressed, his put-together manager as usual, but her expression had never been so gentle, so _motherly_.

“All of this”? How, since a growled “ _Oh, you’re sorry?_ ” in a voice that was very much not- _his_ had dropped its first dampening blanket over the world, Dan had realised he couldn’t remember how to properly be a person? How, god, he could still remember pulling a suspender to guide soft lips to his and that memory _still_ made his heart flutter – albeit, now mostly in nostalgic pain, but...

How he’d yelled and screamed at his manager for so long after it all went to shit, how he’d cut Jade out of his life and come a hair’s-breadth from telling Isabelle he didn’t want to see her face again too. How her caring about him living saved him but only just, because how could drifting through the world feeling empty and gone be “saved”? How even now, mild bitterness surfaced as he thought of how she’d contributed to what had lost him everything?

How seeing those fucking fox socks had felt like the first time a wash of colour had been applied to the world? How watching him walk into the room had felt like the equivalent of an earthquake to how plain and flat his life had been until now?

How he felt like he could see again? Feel something again since those beautiful words of PJ’s text had appeared on his lock screen?

“I’m...I’m excited for this project.”

After a moment, Isabelle nodded and smiled. “All right, then. I’m glad, Dan.”

* * *

 

“What do you mean? Phil, you can’t just go on fucking holiday without telling me. I’m your fucking boyfriend.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. It wasn’t something I planned, I just found out, just now.”

“How the hell does that work out? They’re just traveling on a whim? God, do they have cash to throw away? Because you should be paid more.”

Phil shifted uncomfortably as Simon’s nails dug into his chest. “They are. They said they’d pay me more.”

“Oh. Well. That’s good, I suppose.” Simon’s nails released, his hand drifting up to Phil’s forehead, where he could play with his fringe and pull Phil’s head down to where he could drop a peck onto his lips. Warily, Phil thought maybe Simon would let him off. For the sake of the money.

“So, am I invited?”

“I...I don’t think so. Sorry. I’ll − I’ll send home my pay cheque, though.”

Simon growled another sigh and shifted to straddle Phil’s hips, bringing a cold draught of air between the sheets as he sat up. Phil shivered as he met Simon’s dark eyes.

“I guess we’ll have to make up for the time I won’t be able to see you now, then, eh?”

“Y-yeah.” Phil murmured as Simon leaned down to attack Phil’s jaw with his lips, rocking hips together, skin against skin.

Phil bit back a sigh and tried to think of something that might arouse him; in bed, Simon’s excitement was rarely matched by his own.

If the sudden, unexpected flash of a pair of brown eyes in his head sparked the beginnings of warmth, Phil struggled to forget it. If the feel of a phantom pair of teeth sinking into his skin, trying desperately to muffle all sound brought Phil up to wrap his arms around his boyfriend’s waist, Phil tried to not think about it. If the memory of a sinful moan that wasn’t Simon’s pushed Phil toward the edge of losing his head completely, Phil decided through the haze he’d remember.

But just for now.

* * *

The flight was booked, the hotel rooms paid for, the equipment packed and Dan’s carefully chosen wardrobe for the trip stowed and ready by the time the next week rolled around. If only giant flapping birds would stop erupting in his stomach every time he thought of locking eyes with Phil again.

He felt so light, the difference was insane. Was this what it felt like to people most of the time? Like the world was actually a bright place?

Had he really felt like this a year ago?

“Whoa, there, slow down. I think you’ve been _too_ productive today.” Isabelle snatched the broom out of his hand as she followed Dan down his entry hall, stowing it behind her back as Dan made another grab for it.

“I want to clean. I want to do something, I’m so _bored_.”

“You have a housekeeper! Also, you should sleep, you look like you’ve been up through all hours of the night.” She poked his cheek.

“There was so much to do. I didn’t want to sleep. And I want to keep doing things, I can’t just lie in bed.”

Isabelle paused, letting the broom dangle from limp fingers as she considered it, a troubled expression on her face. “Dan, frankly, this turnaround is a bit disconcerting. You go from wanting to do nothing but sleep, unable to do work whatsoever, quiet, hell, even completely unresponsive half the time, to...this?”

Dan snatched the handle from her grasp and swept away from her, laughing. “What, you don’t want me to be happy?”

“That’s not it! It’s him, isn’t it? It’s Phil, you’re happy because of Phil. But he just said he’d stay with the crew. That’s all. I hate to be the naysayer, but you had to resort to bribery to keep him on at all. Have you even spoken to him?”

“I did!” Dan’s skipping steps slowed, and he scowled. “I talked to him.”

She waited, but he didn’t continue. “And?” she prompted. “What did you two talk about?”

“I said I was sorry. And then...”

She sighed and patiently watched him shift the broom from hand to hand, quiet once more. “Then?”

“Then he said he wasn’t coming back. But he is! He’s coming back now. That means something! And I can apologize again, and again, until he forgives me.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“I...I’ll be fine. I’ll accept that.”

He could tell she was refraining from rolling her eyes. She folded her arms instead.

“And if he does forgive you? What then?”

“Then we can...I can...”

“He has a boyfriend, Dan,” she reminded him gently. “They seemed pretty serious.”

“Then...we can be friends again.”

“And you’d be okay with that? That will be enough?”

It wasn’t, really. But...

“Whatever Phil will let me have will be enough.”

But god if it didn’t sting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why do i always post at 3am???  
> *drops a quick lil plot twist change of location bc WE NEED OUT OF THIS HELLHOLE OF DEPRESSION and new places bring new feelingsss*  
> i totally didn’t write this chapter instead of working on gross overdue hw i didn’t want to do lol  
> i am ashamed of myself but also only a little bit because my class & its professors are just terrible?? it’s just surface-level af and full of busywork that isn't really useful or relevant >_>  
> i’m so HERE for break imma spend it introducing the datemate to the parents & cuddling with my cat & rewatching all of yuri on ice bc i’m trash for this new genre of “non-fetishized non-queerbaiting with a side of an actually healthy and adorable and pure gay relationship” anime omfg


	18. Conversations At A Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M BACK MY SINFUL CHILDREN HALF DEAD BUT HERE X_X

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes.”

“Did you remember your sketchbook?”

“Yes!”

“You got some actual sleep last night? And you have your camera? And your backup lens −”

“ _Yes!_ Calm down, Isabelle.” Dan adjusted his fringe in the mirror and leaned back against the plush seat to watch cars speed by.

His manager’s hand-wringing in the corner of his eye was enough to catch his attention as she rifled through his carry-on bag once more. She’d practically packed the whole thing herself, somehow convinced he’d forget everything he would need to take care of himself in her absence.

“I can’t believe now, of all times, would be when my mother demands I take time off work. Of course I’m sure my distant family was lovely, but my great step-uncle’s funeral isn’t top priority right now! I’d rather be helping you with the documentary, especially while you’re away from home, and, well...”

“I’m going to be fine. I’m an adult.”

“Yes, but...”

He sighed and wrapped a lock of hair around a finger again. She’d keep trailing off until she’d said her piece, even if he knew perfectly well what it would be. “Say it.”

“But _Phil_.”

“You’re coming to meet us when it’s over, right? That can’t be more than two weeks, and even I can’t completely fuck everything over in that short amount of time. It’ll all be _fine_.”

There was a touch of maternal fondness in the way she rolled her eyes and pulled his hair out of his grasp to smooth it into place. “All right. I won’t worry so much, then.”

“Good. You worrying is more tiring than anything else on my plate. It’s probably why I don’t sleep, I just hear you fussing at me in my head all the time.”

Maybe she hit him in the shoulder harder than usual, but he probably deserved it.

“You just...you promise to let things be with him if it doesn’t work out, right, Dan? You won’t push it? You _promise_.”

“ _Yes_ , Isabelle.” He glared and she glared back, but it was a front and they both knew it as she patted his shoulder and turned away.

He’d miss her.

***

The cup of coffee Dan had consumed hadn’t had enough shots for a nine AM flight, especially when he’d lied about getting enough sleep the night before. The plane ride was set to be much too long, and Dan ended up only catching a glimpse of PJ, a class down the aisle, who waved so frantically that Dan really couldn’t have missed him. But crane his neck as he might, Dan couldn’t catch a glimpse of black fringe, and resigning himself, he lay back in his seat with a sigh. It was probably good. He needed to calm down. He needed to sleep.

Well, he shouldn’t sleep now. He’d fuck up his sleep schedule.

“Dan? Wake up!”

_Ugh._

“Dan. Come on.” PJ shook his shoulder again. “It’s our first transfer.”

Dan fumbled with the buckle keeping him in the seat, letting a long groan escape. Their _first_ transfer.

By the time Dan found himself stepping into the chokingly muggy air of their destination, his head was pounding and he couldn’t keep his eyes open. His body was complaining that it should have been five AM, but the rich red and gold beams of light stretching across the horizon were leaving, not coming up.

“Is the – the – caaaaar −” The muzzy voice in Dan’s ear was interrupted by a wide yawn, and tiredly, Dan twisted around.

Phil’s normally organized hair had mussed itself into an endearing rat’s nest and, behind thick glasses, sleepy blue eyes blinked into his. Dan’s already foul tasting mouth went drier.

“Ph −”

“Here’re the cars!” PJ called, and Dan felt a tug on his arm. “Let’s head to the hotel.”

Dan glanced back as he was pulled into the car, just in time to watch Phil clamber into the one behind theirs.

Had he even noticed Dan? 

* * *

 

_Call me when you get in._

Phil glared at the small blue bubble and once more hit call.

Once more, only ringing reached his ears, and once more, a cool voice told him he’d reached his boyfriend’s phone, but Simon couldn’t “get to the phone right now” but “if you leave a message” he’d “return it as soon as possible.”

Phil threw the phone across the bed and fell back onto the fluffy pillows – heaven following twenty hours spent in a cramped airplane seat.

Maybe he was being grumpy after so many long flights, but he’d expected Simon to pick up. Sure, it was early back home, but Simon had _said_ he wanted to hear from Phil, and he’d _assured_ him he’d be awake, and he’d _promised_ he would be eager to talk.

He just wanted to sleep...and the bed was so soft...if he just drifted off right now, that would be okay, wouldn’t it?

He let aching, droopy eyes wander across the darkening room – all elegant greens and greys, a stone floor with a leafy fern in a pot that matched the flooring perched on the bed side table. The wall of windows and a glass door he’d cracked open to let in a breeze led to a tiny balcony with a charming view of trees and the disappearing sun.

All this, to himself.

He was lucky to be here. With the way he and Simon had been doing lately, he could never have afforded something like this on his own.

So why was he so cranky?

  1. He really needed a nap.
  2. His boyfriend wasn’t picking up his phone when he’d said he would.



And 3...

...Well...

  1. This beautiful room with its gorgeous view and amazing location was being paid for by someone Phil did not want to film, did not want to see, and most certainly did not want to speak to.



     But 4. Phil was going to have to do all of these things at some point, quite soon. In several hours, probably.

Letting himself succumb to peaceful unconsciousness for a while to sleep everything off, to ignore the Simon issue, and most of all, to forget why exactly he was here in the first place was sounding pretty damn good at the minute, and screw waking up too early. He snuggled deeper into the mattress, curling into a ball, not caring about the blankets staying tucked into the neatly made bed frame, not caring about the wrinkled travel clothes he still wore, barely even aware the shoes he didn’t even have the energy to toe off still adorned his feet...

Phil was just starting to slip away when a loud rap at the door had him starting up again, his heart racing.

PJ’s response to Phil’s finally dragging himself up and answering the door was a giant grin, albeit on the weary side, and a cheery invitation to join the rest of the crew at the bar downstairs for drinks on their director.

Phil couldn’t say no to those pleading puppy dog eyes − even as his bed called to him, tempting, alluring, he reluctantly closed the door on it. He couldn’t bring himself to care enough to change or shower, as PJ clearly had, but he owed this to the people he’d be working with for however long this damned project would take. He’d made his bed in accepting this job. Now he had to learn who he was supposed to be sharing it with.

Flickering torchlight softly lit their path down to the hotel’s courtyard. It was half-full of tourists seated at tables clustered around a bonfire, but PJ’s group − one that had apparently grown since Phil’s first day − was planted firmly at the bar, vaguely familiar faces turning toward them to smile and wave, drinks in hand. Small though their number still was, they’d already broken off into tiny groups that had gathered into unwelcoming circles.

Phil let his gaze drift over the company present and again thought longingly once more of his bed. PJ could tease him about having a grandparent’s sleep schedule all he wanted. Mingling with the rest of the crew, already cliqued up, didn’t feel worth the effort when the primary emotion Phil could summon at the moment was weary irritation.

But then an arm wound through his. “Phil! How are you?”

Phil blinked over at a bright face framed with drooping but still faintly bouncy blond curls. Louise bubbled with more excitement and energy than anybody who had gone through those layovers should have at this hour, but Phil decided the course of least resistance was probably the least tiring. He mustered a smile back.

“Good.”

“You look awful,” Louise confided, squeezing his arm. “Were you sleeping?”

“Trying to.”

“Too bad!” PJ popped up on Phil’s other side, leaning on the bar. “I haven’t been drinking with you since uni days, and I can’t pass up an opportunity like this!”

“Because I can’t go drinking, you know that! I could never keep up with everyone.”

“He’s a lightweight,” PJ nodded conspiratorially at Louise and signaled the woman behind the counter. “It’s very amusing to go pub hopping with Phil. Three shots of your strongest stuff.”

Phil didn’t realise what he was in for until PJ dropped the glasses in front of him. “Oh, oh no. No, PJ. I’m not going to. I haven’t even eaten anything, I’ll −”

“You _are_. Bottoms up, Philly.” PJ grinned, tongue between his teeth as he picked up a shot to turn upside down into Phil’s mouth.

Phil coughed and shivered as heat laced through him and he glared at PJ. “P −”

The clack of another shot on the bar and a slight dribble of liquid down the side of his chin as Phil choked down his second shot.

“Dammit,” he gasped, shaking his head and waving away PJ’s last shot as his friend brandished it in front of his nose.

“Fine,” PJ pouted as he downed it himself. “I thought you might want to kick back for a bit before we dive into work.”

“Let me breathe first,” panted Phil as Louise giggled, sipping her own fruity drink at a much slower pace.

“So if I order you another one and wander away, you might do it by the time I’m back?” PJ asked hopefully.

“Gosh, why are you determined to get me out of it, Peej? You don’t like me sober?”

“You’re fun when you’re drunk. You won’t shut up and the things that come out of your mouth are absolutely _fascinating_. So, another?”

“Go on, Phil!” Louise cajoled, slopping a little of her drink onto Phil’s jeans. “Ooh, sorry.”

PJ grinned approvingly and signaled for another drink for the unsteady Phil as Louise tried to daub at Phil’s knee in vain. She looked up as she pulled out another napkin. “Hey, PJ, I know this is a crew party, but Isabelle just left, you know.”

Phil, who’d been trying to trace wood grain patterns on the bar to focus his head into not spinning, let his fingers trail to a stop.

“Dan doesn’t seem like he has a lot of friends, maybe you could go track him down and ask if he wants to come down?”

“Good idea!” And PJ was off.

Louise noticed the frozen Phil and misinterpreted his stellar imitation of a marble statue. “Oh, come on, Phil, one more shot won’t kill you!”

The drink burned as it went down. 

* * *

 

Dan was trying and failing to sleep when the quiet knock roused him, and by the time PJ had convinced him hermitage was not the route he should take during Isabelle’s absence and Dan had thrown on some decent clothing, the weariness he’d been hoping to achieve had set in.

The loose gray and blue jumper he’d thrown on was too loosely knit for the light breezes blowing across the now dark hotel grounds, and Dan wrapped his arms around himself as he followed PJ through the maze of open passageways.

The courtyard wasn’t empty, but it was emptying. The tiny bar and family space weren’t appealing enough to overpower late night spots where actual parties could occur.

PJ was welcomed back with open arms by their group, rowdy now and appreciative of the man contributing to this. Dan’s fanfare was more subdued, and soon, they’d all turned back to each other, chattering in unapproachable conversations Dan couldn’t participate in.

The blond woman who’d done his makeup caught his eye from the corner with a smile and a beckoning gesture, and Dan obligingly started toward her before his gaze found a black head behind her. He faltered.

Phil slumped over the bar, and as Dan hesitantly approached, he straightened, eyes boring into the bottom of the empty shot glass in front of him like it held all of life’s answers.

“Hello, Dan! What have you been up to?” The woman blocked his view. Distractedly, he peered down at her.

“Oh, er, not much. Louise, right?”

“Yes, that’s right. We thought you might be lonely without your manager, so we wanted to invite you down along with the crew!”

“We?” Had _he_ –

“PJ and I.” Louise smiled and followed Dan’s gaze to the silent Phil. “Oh, do you know Phil?”

“I – a...little.”

“Great! Phil, make friends with Dan. I’m going to go see if PJ will buy me another one of these.” And she was off, before Dan could determine whether or not that was a secret little grin on her face.

The silence she left behind was deafening as Dan timidly seated himself next to his ex...something. But you had to have been something to be exes, didn’t you? They’d gone out twice, fucked once?

Which, a year of radio silence later, amounted to a whole lot of nothing.

“Phil?” he tried.

He jerked. Dan flinched.

There was quiet again.

“Why?” His voice was hoarse as he ran fingertips over the glass rim, tilting it and letting amber drops trickle together.

 _Why what? I don’t fucking know, Phil._ But he knew. He knew because he felt the same. Why?

Phil continued to tilt the glass, rolling it across the wood on its edge. “Why’d you not let me go? Why did you −”

He choked as the glass fell from his fingers, skittering across the bar.

“How many of those have you had?”

Phil dropped his head, massaging his temples. “Three I didn’t ask for. Two more after I heard you were coming down.”

“I’m sorry, Phil.”

“So am I.”

Silence reigned again. Dan shivered.

“Why did I not let you go?” he finally repeated. “Why didn’t you go? You didn’t have to stay. You were leaving.”

“Mmm.” Phil turned toward him, eyes focused on nothing. They sharpened as they met his. “You’re so goddamn...why did you have to be so...”

He stared at Dan’s lips, his own parting slightly. “I can’t forget you, can I?”

Dan’s heart jumped.

“You won’t let me. From the start, you making me follow you around because I broke your stupid phone. Now you’re making me follow you around with a stupid camera. Because you can just...pull me in, just make me do whatever you want. It doesn’t matter what I want, you just – just snap your fingers and I’ll come running.”

He had to try. “W-what _do_ you want?”

Phil buried the heels of his palms in his eyes, rubbing them. “I want to forget you. Fuck. But that’s not going to happen.”

Ah. It was expected. It still hurt.

Isabelle’s words echoed through his head. _You promise to let things be with him if it doesn’t work out, right, Dan?_

“Phil...can we...I want to be friends again.”

Phil snickered, letting his hands drop. He peered at Dan through drooping lids. “Snap your fingers, then. And I’ll come running.”

“Really, though, I want to...I want to start over. Because I’m sorry. It doesn’t have to be right away, just – give me another chance?”

Phil continued to blink at him. “Sure. If I remember any of this tomorrow morning, fine. Let’s start the day as just another couple of strangers.” He swayed and giggled, pitching sideways onto the bar. “Hope for your sake I’m not as out of it as I feel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay for fuckin allergic reactions that try to kill u!! they’re so GOOD! it’s cool to go to urgent care kids!!!! and feel like shit all the time and be bad at being a human bc your body hates you because you took prescribed penicillin!!!!!!!!  
> (for real tho this started in oct and just got worse and worse so i apologize for being 100% mia for 2 months i’m trying to remain alive and sane lol but i have shit planned and i’m going to fucking finish this fic if it kills me or if i’m eighty when it’s done I WILL DO IT)  
> (also if anything in this chappie sounds strange - like weird and unintentionally vaguely sexual metaphors at the worst of times e.g. making ur bed and sharing with ur crewmembers??? - it’s because i wrote most of it in short increments at 5am and if i try to edit this any more than it already has been it will never come out because i hate everything i write esp this goddamn two month long chapter)  
> SEE U NEXT TIME MAYBE NEXT WEEK IF I DON'T FUCKING DIE MORE IDFK HERE'S HOPING


	19. Watercolour Eyes

Why the hell had he been so unbelievably _stupid_? What had possessed him last night to be such a complete _idiot_?

His head throbbed again, and Phil bit back a whimper. Hazy memories of too many shots tossed back with a grimace and a harsh cough, empty glasses glinting in the soft torchlight flashed before him. He retched into the toilet bowl once more and pressed a hand to the cold sweat beading his forehead.

He never drank. Why...?

_“Snap your fingers and I’ll come running.”_

Oh. _Oh, shit._

***

It took Phil a full half an hour longer than usual to stumble through something like a morning routine to get himself looking almost presentable. Part of it came from feeling a bit like death warmed over, the other – dread for what awaited him at complimentary breakfast as he hurried downstairs.

Well, this was what he deserved, wasn’t it? This was what he got for getting completely pissed last night. He’d let this happen.

_“Snap your fingers...”_

Phil buried his face in his hands. Why had he said that? Oh god.

“Ready to try and make a dent in the hotel’s infinite waffles, Phil? You’ve got two hours until we’re due downtown for some establishing shots, sleepyhead.”

Phil nearly took a swing and settled for glaring at the man who’d clapped a hand to his shoulder and was now grinning cheekily, as if this wasn’t all his fault.

“Screw you, PJ.”

“What? You had fun, didn’t you? You looked like you were having some _deep_ discussions with Dan, you know, getting to know the talent, eh?”

“Yes...getting to know the talent.” A sly feminine voice piped up as PJ waved a goodbye in favour of greeting other crewmembers scattered around the tables, obviously varying degrees of hungover. Louise smirked up at him as Phil turned to look at her, questioning.

“Getting to know him...very well.” Her eyebrows were going now, and Phil folded his arms, too achy and irritated to deal with this.

“What is all that supposed to mean?”

“Just that...I doubt you recall retiring to your room last night, do you?” Louise’s grin could’ve given the Cheshire Cat a run for his money now, and Phil’s stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch that had nothing to do with all the drinking he’d done last night.

He cast back, desperate. He’d woken up in his bed, at least. Alone. The sheets hadn’t been very messy, the other side made. That was all a relief.

But...the act of going to bed itself? No, he couldn’t remember that. It all blurred after the stupid confession that had spilled from his alcohol-loosened tongue: Dan’s hold over him was ever-present. He wasn’t sure he could handle the humiliation if the star of the documentary ever approached him with this fact Phil had conveniently decided to never actually address to others or even to himself, until last night had prompted every wall to come tumbling down.

So what on earth did Louise’s eyebrows mean?

“Why?” he finally asked warily.

“Just that, uh, for someone you’ve...never met before, Dan Howell seemed very concerned with looking after you last night. Including but not limited to carrying you to your room.” She patted his shoulder as she walked past. “Ooh, waffles!”

***

The shots they took – of quietly bustling streets, tourist-y storefronts, and beautiful vistas – were done in what felt like no time at all, probably because they were lacking the documentary’s main subject, and Phil felt the absence keenly.

It wouldn’t be for too much longer. A photoshoot was planned on the beach, one for Dan’s blog, and the crew would be filming the process. Louise had vanished back to the hotel to prep his makeup, and PJ didn’t know anything about what had or what exactly was currently going on between Dan and Phil. And Phil wanted to keep it that way.

But god, did he need someone to talk to.

It struck him in a flash. Simon. This was a relatively reasonable time to call him, right? He’d be up, definitely, maybe winding down for bed, but awake for sure.

He was dialing before he remembered that Simon had absolutely no idea this whole trip revolved around Dan Howell, and Simon didn’t like Dan Howell, and hearing Phil talk about all the issues he was having with Dan Howell would probably spell trouble with a capital T.

“Phil?” His voice crackled through the phone and Phil swallowed.

“Hey.”

“Why haven’t you called me? I said right when you got in!”

Phil jerked at the unexpected sharp tone. “I did. You didn’t answer.”

“Well, I – I – fine.” Simon wasn’t in a good mood already, that much was clear. Now definitely wasn’t the time to drop the bomb of what was a historically touchy subject to him. Phil opted for weak distraction.

“I tried to reach you, a good couple times!”

“Whatever. Are you enjoying your _vacation_?”

“Well, PJ thought I would have more fun if I blacked out last night, so I haven’t exactly been conscious enough to enjoy much of it. And now...I’m working.” Phil awkwardly scuffed his shoe through the sand as he stepped onto the beach and thought better of it – too little, too late as the tiny grains settled deep into its confines.

“Is that all? You called me with _that_?”

Phil’s irritation sparked once more at the terse words. “Listen, I called you to try and check in, you didn’t pick up, and you got pissed. Now I call you again and you’re angry that I don’t have enough to say?”

“Hearing about you drinking with PJ while I’m stuck over here working my butt off isn’t exactly my idea of fun, Phil! I never liked him, anyway, he was always too −”

“He’s my friend, and now we’re coworkers, Simon! For god’s sake, are you going to police everyone I know? Should you go ahead and check out every bag lady on the corner before I go outside? Careful, she might look at me funny and then where would we be?”

There was a deadly silence and Phil bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood. He shouldn’t have said that.

“Phil, come on, Dan’s here!” PJ’s voice was too loud, too close, and there was nothing to cover the words with the long stretch of dangerous quiet currently going on on either side of the line. But now, it took on a new quality, because Simon had heard Phil’s sharp intake of breath. And he’d heard PJ’s words.

“Phil,” he said quietly, in a way that set Phil’s hand to shaking, the phone knocking against his cheek. “You wouldn’t happen to be there with a certain arsehole of a fashion model, would you? One that used and abused you and hung you out to dry? Because...I would be very, very angry if you were and didn’t breathe a word about it to me.”

“It’s...of course not...I have to go, all right? I have to film now. I’ll talk to you later.” He could barely press the end call button, his trembling finger tapped the screen wrong twice before he finally got it.

“Time to set up, c’mon – Phil? Are you all right? You’re white as a sheet.”

Phil turned toward his old friend, and instead was intercepted by a pair of worried brown eyes watching him from across the sand. Dan held the eye contact a moment longer before his gaze dipped away quietly.

Phil swallowed and nodded, looking to PJ. “Let’s...let’s get to work.”

As he slogged across the beach towards the cameras, Phil didn’t expect the hand stuck in his face to cut him off from his destination.

“Hi.” His voice was low, cautiously testing the waters. “I’m Dan Howell.”

Phil stared at him, and a flicker of nerves passed across Dan’s face.

Finally, Phil slowly took the hand, and the nerves gave way to weak-kneed relief.

“I’m...I’m excited to work with you,” he rushed out breathlessly, pumping Phil’s hand up and down.

“Yes,” Phil whispered, and now there was a tiny, hopeful glint in those beautiful eyes.

Simon was going to kill him.

***

“Isn’t he pretty?” Louise sighed.

Phil adjusted his lens and fought back a blush as he found his eyes once more roaming across shining skin.

Louise may have gone a bit crazy with highlighter, but as Dan shifted to look up at his photographer from beneath his eyelashes and his face caught the light in a golden shimmer, Phil tried to catch his breath, fiddling with the camera even more furiously.

The gauzy white over shirt open to a bare chest along with a pair of obscenely miniscule jean shorts revealed too much airbrushed skin Phil would have been sure couldn’t be real, except that the photoshopped body lounged before his very eyes.

“I guess.”

“Uh-huh.” She glanced over at him. “You’re staring.”

“So are you,” Phil mumbled.

“I’m just proud of my creation,” Louise sighed, bracelets jangling as she tucked back her hair to look at the shimmering Dan once more. “What’s your excuse?”

“Nothing. I’m not.”

“I guess I should do his makeup like this more often,” she mused, and Phil suddenly found that he was being called by an invisible crew member from across set, as far away from those eyebrows as possible.

He was done staring.

* * *

 

Phil was ignoring him again. Dan wondered if this was going to be his whole trip – his mood fluctuating entirely based upon whether or not his assistant director decided to pay him the slightest bit of attention that day.

The handshake, the unspoken agreement, that had been the last time Phil had so much as met his eyes. Had it meant nothing? Did he regret it? Or had Dan done something wrong again?

It had been a week, for fuck’s sake, and he was back to square one.

Dan felt like he was slipping sideways, balancing on a raft atop the sea he’d been drowning in the entirety of this past year. A rickety raft Phil’s sudden appearance had thrown him, one Dan had only grown more confident in when Phil had agreed to stay, but now, it was falling apart again.

Dan took a breath through lungs tight and painful. Why the hell did that dully aching hole in his chest have to make a reappearance? Was his position so tenuous that he’d relapse so easily, so quickly? He shoved away his lunch – a meager bowl of soup, but he wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t been hungry.

“Done? Let’s get you ready!” Louise was at his shoulder, a quickly tanning breath of happy, bright fresh air in a crew of people who barely interacted with him.

She was no Isabelle, but she was friends with Phil, wasn’t she? Maybe she’d know why he was being brushed aside again.

“Hey,” he managed quietly as she applied tiny, glittering flowers to his face. “Do you know...could you...”

“Sorry?” She coughed into her elbow and met his gaze in the mirror, her own preoccupied as she adjusted 3D petals on his cheek.

“Never mind.”

***

The shoot was amidst rich greenery and brilliant red just-opening buds.

Dan’s vision spun a little as he looked at it, intense, lurid colours blurring before his eyes in the bright sun.

The shoot was for documentary cameras alone, this time, with some of the first results of his clothing line. He’d take a picture for Instagram if he remembered, but he felt curiously sick as he turned to face the little black box of metal and glass. PJ was calling out, and Dan watched his mouth move. It was weird he couldn’t hear the words, he reflected. It was weird he felt so cold and trembly. It was weird as the world tilted and his head buzzed.

“−an! _Dan!_ Shit!” Someone was shaking him from far away. A splash of watercolour blue eyes and pale skin – even paler than usual.

“What’s wrong with him?” Another desperate voice demanded.

“Give him space. C’mon, PJ, we should call someone to help.”

He was looking up at a rough-hewn ceiling. He hadn’t been a moment ago, he could’ve sworn. He was in the shade now, under a roof – an open air shelter – his head cradled in two gentle hands. He blinked up at Phil, who looked thoroughly shaken as he stared down at him.

“What happened?”

“You collapsed.” Phil cleared his throat, and Dan became aware of a thumb rubbing insistent, anxious circles behind his ear. He almost sounded like he’d been crying.

“Oh.” He tried to sit up, and the world started to whirl around him again. “Fuck.” He fell back into Phil’s lap.

“God, don’t. What’s wrong?”

“I feel...faint.” He sounded like a goddamn soap opera. He laid a hand over his eyes, screwing them shut.

Phil laughed brokenly. “Obviously. You _fainted_. Do you need water? An ice pack?”

His stomach ached, and he realised. “Food?”

Phil’s tone sharpened. “Have you not been eating, Dan? Is that why −”

“I haven’t been hungry.” Slowly, Dan rolled off Phil and away, pulling from his touch.

“You...” Phil followed him off the bench he’d had Dan stretched across, steadying him as Dan missed a step and almost fell, knees knocking together. Phil was almost spitting as he pulled Dan upright, glaring. “You weren’t _hungry_? You’re skin and bones as it is, Dan, I don’t care if you have to stuff yourself every meal, you have to take care of yourself! I don’t understand how you could −”

Again, Dan pulled from his grasp, ugly resentment pooling in his stomach. So much for starting over as strangers, first Phil had looked past him and now he was in Dan’s face. After a week of the silence that had caused this in the first place, Phil was suddenly so anxious to lecture him? Like he was in the position to do such a thing. “You don’t care. You can’t care. You don’t...don’t _get_ to.”

There was sudden, jarring stillness, and Dan dared to glance up. Phil was staring at him, something strange and intense in his eyes, and, unnerved, Dan stared back.

“Yeah?” Phil asked, a low challenge in his voice.

“Yeah...?” Dan repeated, a tad uncertainly, realising Phil was hovering ever-so-slowly closer. He took a step backwards and his back bumped the wall.

“That’s not how it works,” Phil growled quietly as he moved nearer.

Unreadable blue eyes were locked onto him, staring into him, through him. Suddenly, Phil’s hands were balled up in his collar, his lips mashing into Dan’s, slamming him backward, and a surprised, unplanned, embarrassing whimper escaped Dan’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Phil mumbled, pressing himself against Dan, and Dan nodded reverently, too occupied to properly respond, curling his own fingers tightly around Phil’s wrists to keep pulling him in, because he never wanted these lips to leave his again.

“Fuck,” he echoed again breathlessly when they finally did, a warm, barely-audible exhalation into the space between them as Phil rested his forehead against Dan’s.

For a moment, the world seemed dazzling and vivid and _right_ , and then Phil let go, and now Phil was the one pulling away, and Dan felt Phil’s hands slip hopelessly through his fingers and the void became terribly wide, impossible to cross once more.

Phil spoke the words into the silence before he stepped away, leaving Dan swaying and alone. “Eat some goddamn food, Dan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIDENOTE: HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY TO THE SMOL SUNSHINE MAN THAT'S SOMEHOW THREE DECADES OLD????????  
> -  
> yooo after years of rainless desert we finally have another low key reference points 4 u if u find it  
> welcome to the start of the chapters of hopefully a lot more Dan Looks(tm) bc god knows i need to dress that boy in more things that cause Phil Sweating(tm)  
> (potato sacks unfortunately are not among those things sorry daniel)  
> and i’m sorry this chapter was so DRAMATIC? dan in particular is just a giant-ass drama queen in general but like BOIIII  
> (also yoooooooooooo got dumped with lots of emotional junk why tf am i starting to move into fluffy bits now when i should be writing angst bc i’m EMO AS FUCK RN)


	20. (Kiss) And Make Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT’S FUCKIN CHAPTER TWO-OH WE ARE AT TWENTY GODDAMN CHAPTERS I DON’T KNOW HOW I’M STILL WRITING THIS I CAN NEVER FINISH ANYTHING BECAUSE I’M A PIECE OF SHIT AND MY LIFE IS CURRENTLY IN SHAMBLES PLEASE APPLAUD THAT I’VE COME THIS FAR I’D LIKE TO THANK THE ACADEMY AND THE LONG REVIEW-LEAVERS THANK U

He just did that. _He just did that._ Phil pressed his fingers to his mouth as he strode down the pavement. Everything was all wrong, he was doing everything all wrong, he should have just _walked away when he had the chance before this trip even happened_ −

_Shit._

Why had he opened that door again? What was even going on in his head that he would keep doing things like this?

But something in the pit of his stomach ached as he thought of Dan’s hand trembling as he laid it over his eyes.

He’d been so worried. Dan had seemed really run down recently, but Phil had forced himself to ignore it, to pretend it wasn’t happening, until Dan had just...crumpled.

 _This_ was why he’d been trying to look past him, since Louise and her teasing, he couldn’t afford to – to do this again. This stupid, stupid feeling.

 _Too late_ , he reflected bitterly.

“Phil! Is he −”

“He needs to eat,” Phil snapped, and PJ raised an eyebrow.

“All right? Is there a reason you’re biting my head off?”

“Your talent is just an idiot, that’s all. And, you know, nobody thought to check if the recently self-destructive guy was actually looking after himself while his manager was gone.”

Phil folded his arms, pointedly turning away from the worried look Louise was sending him.

“Okay...” PJ chewed on his lip. “I mean, we can’t film today after all that, so I suppose you can go home. But Phil – I’d like to talk to you later.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Phil bit out, but PJ countered with a challenging glare of his own.

“Oh, there is.”

Louise’s muffled coughing interrupted the stare down, and the two friends broke away.

“We should go look after Dan,” PJ said to Louise, waving Phil away. “I’ll speak with you when we get back.”

“Whatever,” Phil mumbled at their backs, whirling towards the direction of the hotel.

His mind, unbidden, played Dan’s collapse over and over again. And each time, his heart leaped to his throat, his stomach dropped. Cavalier storming out or not – Phil could employ every form of denial possible, but there was no refuting that even now, Dan’s fainting spell still made him sick with worry.

***

“Did you feed him?” Phil grudgingly leaned a shoulder against PJ’s doorframe, the summons his friend had texted him – that Phil had spent a half an hour pretending he hadn’t seen – darkening and disappearing as he locked his phone.

PJ beckoned him in, but Phil scowled at him until PJ threw up his hands and fell back onto his bed, running his hands through his hair.

“Yes, we fed him. We watched him take every bite, and then we made him have a few more. And Louise is going to be playing temp manager until Isabelle comes back. Satisfied?” He looked down at the sullen Phil still leaning in his doorway and sighed. “What’s going on, Phil? Honestly. You’re awfully upset for some stranger unaffected by Howell’s health. You were the first one to him when he was down, you look like you’re going to cry your eyes out when we’re trying to wake him up, and you storm out and yell at me when he does? He looked shaky as all hell when we went to bring him back, too. Like you’d chewed him out as well or something.”

His gaze was expectant. It was clear: Phil was going to have to tell him _something_.

He could still sulk and evade to the best of his ability while he did it, though.

Phil crossed his arms. “I’ve just...it was scary to watch, that’s all. People need to look after themselves.”

“Try again.” PJ narrowed his eyes. “And why don’t you come in and shut the door while you’re at it, mate.”

The fight went out of Phil’s body as he slumped into the room, letting the door close quietly behind him. PJ was utterly determined to make him talk. He deserved to know, really. But he couldn’t tell all the gory details of this, not now. The wounds felt as fresh as if Simon’s stupid tell-all of Dan’s thorough exploitation of him had been yesterday, reawakened with the pulse of Dan’s heartbeat under Phil’s fists, with the whine erupting from Dan’s throat, with more than simply a brush of lips.

“We...knew each other, before.”

“I mean, that much is obvious.”

“PJ, just – this is hard, okay? We were close...friends. We got into a fight and cut ties a year ago. We haven’t seen each other since, until now.”

“All right.” PJ watched him.

Phil stared back. He wasn’t going to let a defensive note creep into his gaze, he wasn’t.

“Is that all?”

“That’s all.”

PJ’s eyes were placid. “Are you sure?”

The note was there. “Yes!”

“Okay.” PJ smiled his relaxed little half-smile, and Phil let out a breath. They both knew Phil was omitting, but that smile said that good old PJ understood. To a degree.

“So, are you going to talk to him?”

Tonight? He hadn’t known that was an option. Honestly...

“I’ve made a mess of things, I think. I can’t.”

“You should. I won’t have personal histories interfering with my documentary filming.” PJ grinned, but it faded fast. “Besides, I don’t think he’s honestly feeling that much better. Maybe you patching things up would help more than the rest of us fussing over him.”

Phil fidgeted. “Where is he?”

“Well, where he’s staying is supposed to be top secret, you know, keep anybody too interested in bothering a celebrity from finding out and all. But, lucky for you – I’ve got a room number.”

***

“Hey.” He tapped on the door.

Quiet.

He knocked again.

The groan of a bed, then of a person, then shambling footsteps. Phil steeled himself.

Dan looked rumpled, bleary brown eyes, but they widened marginally as they landed on Phil’s face. He licked his lips, a hand absently reaching up to scrape unruly hair from his face.

“Can I come in?”

The eyes flickered back into the room, and he opened his mouth to say something, but he seemed to think better of it. “Sure.”

As he carefully stepped in and closed the door behind him, Phil realised why. Louise dozed in a chair in the corner, the evidence of dinner for both of them – food wrappings and scraps – on the table next to her.

Oh. Well.

A cursory glance of the giant, modern white-and-gold suite left Phil breathless. Much larger and more luxurious than his, with an enormous sitting room decked out with plush lounge chairs and a TV covering half the wall, a neat kitchen of smooth stone and polished, creamy wood, a dining room to rival a five star restaurant, a door through to what Phil could make out of a large bathroom – including what looked like a swimming pool sized tub − and a colossal balcony with dozens of potted plants, more lounge chairs, and what appeared to be a large jacuzzi tub overlooking yet more beautiful water, a view to die for.

Dan – as casual in this extravagant environment as if it were his own home − went to sit on the king sized bed, his gaze flicking to his makeup-artist-turned-minder before he turned it on Phil.

“Um, what’s up?”

There was more behind those hushed words than a mere query of why Phil was here.

Phil knew what he had to do. For Dan’s sake. Because he’d been on the receiving end of enough angry kisses to know this wouldn’t be good for him. Phil wouldn’t be good for Dan.

Phil glanced at the sleeping Louise before answering in his own whisper.

“I, uh, I wanted to...apologise. For everything. And don’t worry, I won’t ki – I won’t do that again.”

“Oh.” Something that almost sounded like thinly veiled disappointment stained the word. “Okay.”

“I was...I was really worried, I guess. I shouldn’t have – ignored you all that week, I noticed something was wrong, but I didn’t do anything. I should have.”

A small, half-sad smile Phil might have imagined was there and gone before he was sure. “So...playing strangers is shot, isn’t it?”

Phil rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose.”

“What are we going to do, then? We’re not going back to...where we were before this, and we’re not strangers...”

“PJ knows some of what happened now. That we knew each other, and had a falling out. But...we probably shouldn’t go into any more detail, and I don’t know that letting anyone else know would be great. For you or me.”

Dan’s face fell, and something in Phil’s chest ached a response. “But then – I thought you said we wouldn’t −”

“We’re friends.” Phil cut in, effectively shutting Dan up and wiping the desolate look from his face. Fulfilling their purpose, for just a moment of ease. God, Phil was proving himself to be an ugly, selfish creature, wasn’t he? “We’re friends, aren’t we? It can be as simple as that.”

Another small smile spread its way across Dan’s face, and this time it stayed. Even as a dark worm of guilt squirmed in the pit of Phil’s stomach, he couldn’t help his relief. _Thank god._

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re friends.”

The silence was comfortable as they smiled at each other, easy and pleasant.

A snort and an unexpected snore issued from the corner, and both of them jumped. Phil couldn’t help the sudden giggles spilling from his mouth, and Dan’s answering grin was ear-to-ear, until a great yawn split his face wider.

“D’you...do you want me to wake her up and leave so you can sleep?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” The grin was still there, albeit now a bit tired, but accompanied by brown eyes sparkling warmly.

Phil felt his heart stutter – a bad idea, to acknowledge that – and he quickly turned to Louise before his face could betray anything to the altogether much too pretty man on the bed.

A few shakes of her shoulder had her starting and yawning. “Oh, goodness. Sorry, I guess I fell asleep.”

The yawn turned into a cough and Phil eyed her with concern, but she waved him away. He looked helplessly at Dan, who was chewing on his lip and shrugged at Phil’s glance.

“We should probably let Dan get some rest, if you’re ready to go?”

She nodded, stumbling to her feet as she continued to cough, apparently determined to hack up a lung, and Phil took her arm to guide her towards the door, but Dan had other ideas.

“Wait, Phil.”

He turned back.

“C’mere.”

Abandoning the weak-kneed Louise at the door, Phil stepped towards Dan, curious at his small, mysterious smile.

“Thanks. For everything.” Dan pulled Phil’s shoulder downwards, bringing him close enough to plant a peck on Phil’s cheek.

Phil was sure Dan could hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

Startled and flustered, Phil pulled back, only realising a moment later that Dan had also pressed something into his hand.

He looked down to find the trash that had been sitting on the table in his palm.

Dan’s smile had morphed into something almost deviously mischievous. “Throw that out for me, would you, _friend_?”

Phil mouthed unspoken words, settling on a silent glare. Dan’s laughing goodbye wave was not imitated as the door closed behind Phil and an inquisitive-looking Louise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dudes imma be honest i’m as tired of our boys taking a million and one years to actually do anything as u are. unfortunately balancing it so that steady development occurs not too fast is hella BORING  
> BUT  
> BUT  
> BUUUUUUUT  
> if u think this is gonna continue for much longer honey you got a storm coming  
> bc i just wrote some STUFF and we got some GOOD SHIT ahead finally ;)))))  
> -  
> (side fucking note like extra extra side because this has NOTHING to do with phan whatsoever lol it's not even reflecting of my gay ass it's some straight fic man but if you're into miraculous ladybug i just got my first new fic up in a while and the love square's fitting to be a real funny cute staple if u think i write good or somthin or u just want to support my starving artist lifestyle...check it out plz thx ;_;)


	21. Heaven/Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GET READY FOR A WILD ASS RIDE FREIDNS

Going back to work after a few days of rest and compensating for the many meals he’d missed should have been easy, but it wasn’t.

Especially with Louise out sick.

Especially with Isabelle’s frantic messages about what had happened and how they’d be behind schedule. But especially when, at lunch break, PJ called him over to where he stood with a curious-looking Phil and delivered the news.

“Phil’s going to look after you.”

“What?” they asked as one, turning to stare at him.

“Hang on −”

“I’m −”

“Look, Dan, honestly, I’m not your caretaker, hell, you’re basically my boss. But without Isabelle around, it falls to me to make sure you’re doing all right, and so far, you’ve proven yourself unable to care for your own health.” He looked between them. “I know you’ve not been on the best terms, but I don’t personally have the time to babysit, and you know each other. I’m trusting Phil with your care.” He gave Phil a look. “All right?”

“All right,” Phil mumbled.

“Then take him to lunch. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

***

Was this heaven or hell?

Phil’s red-stained cheeks had been interesting as Dan had sent him off with a smooch and a handful of trash. And Phil had kissed him, goddammit.

But he’d also clearly proposed their label: friends. And Dan had to respect that.

Yet as the silence stretched between them, Phil seemed completely unaware of his presence. In a friendly way or otherwise. And as available attention-getting gestures that were also platonic seemed distinctly lacking – or, if Dan was honest, not as attractive as non-platonic ones – he concluded that this might in fact be hell.

Glumly, Dan let his gaze wander out past the road they travelled and over the breathtaking expanse of rich blue water lapping against the shore some yards beyond the road.

He should be happier. They were friends. Phil had said so. He was going to spend more time with Phil. They’d be eating meals together. He should be grateful.

“Dan.”

His name had been called several times, he realised, and his head snapped up. “Yes!”

“Where do you want to go?” Phil was staring bemusedly at him. Dan looked around. Shops had crept into their surroundings without his notice. His eyes fastened on the closest.

“Sandwiches?”

“Sure.” The answer was bland as Phil turned away. He wasn’t avoiding Dan’s eyes, but there was nothing in the gaze directed Dan’s way either.

Dan trailed behind him through the doors, disappointment souring his stomach.

He started to order a half of turkey and avocado before eyes the mirror of the Hawaiian water caught his, narrowed in a glare. He gulped and revised his order to a whole, nervously checking if this indeed had been his mistake.

Phil’s gaze was placid once more, the smallest of approving smiles gracing his face now, and Dan breathed a sigh of relief. By the time Phil had joined him at a tiny booth with their orders, however, the smile had dropped from his face and he was silent once more. He picked at his sandwich unenthusiastically as Dan tried to stomach his own, sneaking glances at his unsocial table mate.

Was he so unhappy to be assigned this job? Dan supposed he couldn’t blame him. Thanklessly shoving food down some pathetic ex-lover’s throat probably wouldn’t be a fun pastime for him either.

“Sorry.”

Again, Dan found himself shocked out of reverie by Phil’s voice. His smile, when Dan relievedly found it, seemed slightly sad.

Dan’s confusion was apparently evident, because Phil chuckled and rubbed his face, abandoning his food completely and crossing his arms to lean on the table, considering Dan closely for the first time that day.

“I’m sorry for being like this. I’m not freezing you out anymore, I promise. I’m just...not feeling great right now.”

Avocado slipped from between Dan’s slices of rye. “You’re not getting sick too?”

“No, no, I’m fine. I just realised yesterday that − well, never mind. The point is...” Phil spread his hands across the table. “I’m done ignoring you. So don’t look so sad, okay?”

Dan smiled slightly back at him and let his gaze fall to his sandwich. He was so transparent, wasn’t he?

Versus Phil the enigma.

“All of it,” were the only other words Phil spoke to him in the shop, about the last traces of food on Dan’s plate, and obediently, Dan ate those too.

The walk back was also silent. Dan despaired of hearing anything else out of Phil that day when they stepped onto set. But as he made to part ways, abruptly, Phil turned around.

“That scarf looks good on you,” he mumbled, before he headed off in the opposite direction, quicker than Dan could process.

He glanced down at the lacy white scarf he’d thrown on that morning and allowed a quiet smile to steal across his face.

Dinner was an equally quiet affair – PJ and a few others had joined them, and in the midst of their chatter, Phil seemed inclined to keep his mouth shut and Dan couldn’t ask if Phil was feeling better or not.

Towards the end of the meal, he pulled PJ aside, too far away for Dan to hear their voices. PJ returned to the table solemn, but when Dan caught his eye, he summoned a bright smile.

Watching Phil’s disappearing back as everyone wound down for the night, Dan was inclined to think that no, he wasn’t feeling better.

He didn’t think it would lead to a complete and utter disappearance the next morning.

***

His alarm woke him. No one came when he kept hitting snooze.

He was angry with himself when he hurried downstairs much too late and half-dressed, prepared for a lecture from his new caretaker. Only there was no raven-haired-head among the clearing breakfast tables. Only a bowed wavy brown one.

“Where’s Phil?”

PJ’s voice was off, catching Dan’s attention. “I...I gave him the day off today. It’s not a good day for him. He said to apologize for skipping out so soon on his new job.”

“Why?”

“Some...things happened last year. An anniversary, today. I shouldn’t...”

The words hit him like a punch to the chest. Last year? Last year, this time, he could’ve sworn...

He tried to count months, days, reaching back. No. It couldn’t be.

“PJ, fuck, I need to fucking know!”

The director turned to stare at him, looking affronted. Dan realised he was snarling, and had he yelled at PJ before? Had he yelled at _anyone_ , really, for a while now?

“Listen, mate. Don’t you use that tone with me.” Dan was physically taller, but in this moment, he felt PJ towered over him in quiet, terrifying rage. “You may sign my paychecks, you may be a recovering anorexic or something, and maybe you’re even a mess because of him, but Phil comes first, and I’m sure as hell not going to tell private matters to somebody who’s obviously hurt my friend in the past. Especially when you look about ready to hit something. Or someone.”

He was crumpling, weak as the fight went out of him and desperation took hold. “Please. God, please.”

PJ stared at him for a minute, eyes unreadable, then finally gave up the evasion at the look on Dan’s face, his tone soft. “His mother passed a year ago. He blamed himself.”

No. No, _no._

“I’m...can I go talk to him?”

“Dan. That’s really not a good idea. He needs to be alone, and we should work on this −”

“This is really −” He stopped. He was shouting once more. He started again, trying to even out his tone. “This is really important.”

PJ pressed his lips together. “At some point, one of you needs to actually give me some answers about all of this.”

Dan could feel his heart pounding in his ears, ready to argue, opening his mouth to yell, but the words were accompanied by an unexpected press of a slip of paper into his palm. He shut his mouth and looked down at the room number.

“Be nice, all right?” Sadness in those green eyes. PJ didn’t know how sorry Dan was too. “Phil needs nice today.”

***

Only Phil didn’t answer the knock on his door. Dan wanted to kick it down. He stalked back down the hallway, grinding his teeth.

He almost missed the figure standing out on little public balcony.

Phil was leaning over the railing, head hanging, forearms dangling in open air. His shoulders slumped, and Dan felt with certain dread he must be crying.

Slowly, he approached with soft footfalls.

“P-Phil,” he breathed, and after a moment, Phil’s head turned.

He wasn’t crying. He looked almost blank, detached, but there was pain hidden deep, Dan could read it in his eyes. He watched as Phil pressed fingers to his forehead and turned back to his railing silently.

He had to ask. “Phil, a year ago – you were – fuck, I missed everything, didn’t I – something was off, you were all wrong. I didn’t think, I was so stupid – but listen to me – did you – did you leave because of...her?”

Finally, an actual reaction. A twitch. An almost imperceptible nod. An unravelling of everything holding Dan up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, and Phil was turning again. Suddenly, he was regarding Dan with worried alarm, with an expression Dan wasn’t expecting to see in the midst of his private grieving, and certainly not directed at Dan, because why? Why would he look at Dan like that?

Phil was reaching out tentatively, and Dan touched his own face as Phil continued to stare.

Dan’s face was wet with his own tears.

“Dan,” Phil whispered, and pulled him in.

His nose buried itself in the hollow of Phil’s throat and stayed there as he gasped for hiccoughing breath. “I’m sorry,” he gulped. “I’m so...”

“ _I’m_ sorry,” Phil murmured back, his arms tightening around Dan’s head and shoulders, fingers carding gently through stray curls.

“Then it wasn’t...you didn’t...not because of the pictures?”

The fingers tightened, then released. Phil let him go, turning away. The words were bitter. “That was later. Simon told me. And I realised he was the only one for me all along after all.”

_Oh._

“I...I know you’re with Simon, and I know he means a lot to you. Just... Please, please, touch me. Just _look_ at me, Phil, like you used to.” Dan’s words were needy. He _felt_ needy. He felt starved of Phil’s touch, desperate for just the slightest brush of fingertips again, even in the most innocent of ways. His legs might not hold him up for much longer if that terribly wonderful hug was the end of this. “It doesn’t – it doesn’t have to mean anything, okay? Just please, for now, here. And then...” His voice broke. “Then we can go home and forget it happened, all right? We’ll finish this documentary, and we never have to cross paths again.”

Phil’s eyes were surprisingly tender as they focused on him once more. His feather light touch as his fingers grazed the side of Dan’s face hurt more than the harsh words Dan had been expecting.

Phil delicately rubbed a lock of hair between his fingers, regarding them with an expression like he was almost in pain as well. He searched Dan’s eyes as he turned his palm to cup Dan’s face, thumb stroking across his cheekbone as his lips ever-so-softly met Dan’s eyelids, then each wet cheek, and then, finally, his lips. 

* * *

 

Phil’s resolve was melting as he kissed Dan’s mouth, as Dan himself melted against Phil’s chest, a quiet half-sob and suddenly, clumsy teeth meeting Phil’s gentle pressure.

The kiss became a bite, all echoes of pain and more Dan tears, but Phil let Dan battle it out against him, pressing back.

He couldn’t decide what he wanted, he’d given Dan this because he deserved this much, he needed this, and if it stitched up a few open wounds deep in the man that were responsible for every emaciated, sharp limb’s creation − for each shaking spell, for the collapse, for the light gone out of his eyes – then it would all be worth it. But he’d thought he would pull back, eventually.

He wasn’t so sure he wanted to anymore.

 _God_ , he’d missed this.

He could feel his body starting to fight back without permission against Dan’s desperate attacks. More than just steady acceptance, he wanted to fight this fire with his own, something sparking in his chest that he’d thought he wouldn’t feel again.

He forced himself to break away, sparing a glance for his dazed, messy model of a makeout partner before hurriedly scanning the area around them.

“People could see us,” he croaked.

Whether they talked it out or he made a stupid decision, they had to get out of this public space. Phil had learned better than to kiss Dan Howell where anybody could see.

The trip back down the hall was hurried, Dan’s hand clutched tightly in his. He fished his keycard out of his pocket and dropped it as he fumbled to fit it into the slot, hands shaking, adrenaline coursing through him and cursed as he snatched it back up. The door was open and closed again behind them for a split second of Phil actually believing he might try to have a conversation with words instead of bodies, and then his hands had reached out of their own accord to seize Dan’s jaw. He didn’t know whether he pulled himself to Dan or to Dan to him, but this was no whisper-soft kiss anymore, this was the crash of tsunami waves on the shore, and Phil thought maybe he had forgotten his own name, but for the moment, he certainly didn’t remember who in the hell Simon was, had been, or would be.

They were stumbling backward into the room, Dan’s hands wrapping firmly around Phil’s hips, fingers digging in sharply, and they were going too fast to merely bump into the bed and stop. They tumbled back onto it in a mess of limbs, and Phil broke from Dan’s lips because they’d been here before, so long ago, falling backwards, Dan’s breath escaping in a whoosh as he interrupted Phil’s fall. He almost heard a phantom phone screen smash before his mind returned.

He was kissing Dan, tangled with him on a bed, and the door was locked behind them. It had been a year since this for a reason, and now...

Now Phil was dating his best friend, and Dan was about to relaunch his celebrity career and reclaim a spotlight that would probably burn hotter than ever.

This was one of the worst ideas he could ever mark down having.

“Shit,” he muttered. “We can’t do anything right. We can’t be enemies, we can’t be strangers, or friends, or lovers −”

“Why not?” was the breathy response in his ear.

Phil pulled back and tried to breathe properly. The scales were already tipped, he’d made his decision much longer ago than he was willing to admit.

Phil had a history of liking things that were bad for him. And at the sight of Daniel Howell, panting beneath him, broken open – his lips puffy, reddened, wet, his pupils blown as he stared up at Phil – Phil knew he wasn’t going to stop now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buh-RO BRO BROOOO IT FEELS LIKE IT MIGHT AS WELL HAVE BEEN LIKE FIVE YEARS SINCE I STARTED WRITING THIS FIC SO LIKE WRITING THE STEAMY SCENE ALMOST MADE ME FUCKING EMOTIONAL??? LIKE ALL THE RECALLS TO THE REALLY SHIT BEGINNING I WAS LIKE TRYING NOT TO BAWL OMFG IT’S BEEN SO LONG JOIN ME IN THIS SMUTTY FLUFFY LIMBO OF HEAVEN AND HELL WHERE WE WEEP TEARS OF JOY  
> also boi if u catch the unsaid ref to a thing way back in happier, simpler times on their first date i’ll be real happy  
> just.............points 2 reference catchers im just sayin


	22. A Souvenir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u wanna skip the real smutty parts stop at the star cut and start up at the next one...but like almost this whole chapter turned out to be a bunch of somewhat sexy times sorry yikes the depressed & deprived boys need some time ;;;-_-

Phil’s eyes weren’t dead this time.

Dan couldn’t remember the last time they’d looked so alive as when they burned down at him, blue embers in the light of the late afternoon that somehow was already shifting to evening, a flush the colour of the lazy glow shining through the windows high in his face.

Dan could feel himself staring, unable to look away, to blink, but he couldn’t help it. He had to drink it in while he could, this heady embrace with a beautiful man he’d been pining after for much longer than merely a year.

Phil’s eyes searched his, a thumb trailing Dan’s collarbone, then his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

Fuck, that _voice_. Deep and husky now, concern leeching into its roughened tones.

“I’m worried you’re going to disappear,” Dan confessed in a jumbled whisper, because it was bouncing around in his head, inescapable even as heat coiled in his stomach and his breath hitched from everything Phil did. The only thing present as his hazy mind emptied of everything but bliss.

Phil’s blazing eyes widened, losing some of their spark, and Dan was saddened he’d done that.

“Dan.”

“Hmm?”

Phil pulled him close, pressing lips to his ear, his jaw, down his neck to his shoulder. He sat up a little again.

“I won’t.”

“Are you sure?” He could never know. “You could be a dream. Or...a nightmare.”

There was pain now.

“No, Dan.”

“You’ll still be there when I wake up?” Dan grabbed to twist his fingers in Phil’s shirt.

“Yes,” Phil whispered, brushing kisses across his mouth. “I promise.”

***

The rocking was gentle at first, something almost sweet compared to their first rushed, thoughtless, emotionless time. But the speed picked up until they were fumbling with jean fastenings, buttons and zips, clumsy mouths breaking and rejoining as Phil began shuddering against Dan, letting his head fall to Dan’s chest while they continued to seek friction. His half-voiced gasps were absolutely _wrecking_ Dan, who started softly chanting, “fuck, fuck, fuck” as Phil succeeded in removing Dan’s underwear and they were finally skin-to-skin.

Quest below complete, Phil’s fingers journeyed their way upwards to pluck hurriedly at Dan’s shirt, pulling it off sideways and almost getting Dan hopelessly tangled as Dan tore Phil’s hoodie off. Shirt successfully tossed across the room, Phil’s lips fastened themselves to Dan’s bare chest, biting, gently sucking, peppering red marks across Dan’s body, working his way up Dan’s neck. Dan squirmed and nearly came at the feeling of Phil’s tongue there.

Phil could feel Dan tensing underneath him, and his mouth came free with a wet pop so that he could press his forehead to Dan’s.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed, but Dan was already halfway there. Looking into Phil’s eyes, so close, so intent and primal, just served to worsen matters. Weakly, he thrust out what he could against Phil’s stomach, then he was spilling over, and Phil was following him, fingernails carving into the flesh of Dan’s ass, blue staring into his soul, searching like he’d find the universe’s answers in Dan’s half-lidded muddy brown. His movements, too, grew slow and shuddering, and Dan felt something and looked between them and realised that fuck, Phil’s shirt had never come off and now they’d ruined it.

“Ahhh,” he started to say, but appeasing lips covered his own until Phil slowly sat up and eased his way off Dan. Dan mourned the loss of the press of his body, but then Phil whispered, “Shower?” and he didn’t anymore.

By the time they’d pulled each other from the steamy bathroom and tumbled back into bed, the darkness outside was complete and Dan could barely keep his eyes open. He let an equally tired Phil tuck him into bed, feeling a brief, exhausted wave of anxiety at being alone between the sheets until Phil slid in behind him, pulling Dan to nestle against him and wrapping arms around him.

Reassured, Dan slipped away, thinking no more.

***

He was sure thinking when his phone’s shrill tones _forcefully_ removed him from sleep.

Thinking about _murdering_ whoever was on the other side of the line.

He pressed his face into warmth and scrunched his eyes closed further, determined to ignore the problem for as long as possible. His laziness paid off when the ringing stopped a few moments later.

Satisfied, he hugged closer whatever he was clutching, ready to drift off again when a different phone started to scream.

It might not have actually been screaming. But he sure felt like screaming back.

“Mmmm...”

A voice – not his own – rumbled through his body as the person he embraced stretched beneath him, shifting.

A person. Who...?

Phil. _Phil._

Dan bolted up, and baby blues blinked at him, tired surprise stamped across his face as he dropped the hand that had been about to bury itself in Dan’s hair.

“You’re...you’re here.”

A weak crumpling of his forehead. “Yeah.”

Phil’s phone stopped ringing as they stared at each other.

“Dan?” Phil ventured, a tentative hand coming to rest at the nape of Dan’s neck, fingers stroking velvet caresses right where he was weakest. He shivered, and a ghost of a grin appeared on Phil’s face. “Come on, Dan, it’s cold. Come back.”

His fingertips traced tiny circles, and that just wasn’t fair.

Dan lay back down, letting his own fingers curl across Phil’s chest, lightly dusted with hair.

So this was what it was like to wake up with Phil. Hearing his steady heartbeat, his gentle breaths as Dan’s head rose and fell with his cheek pressed to Phil’s skin.

He looked up to catch Phil’s eyelids fluttering open halfway, a half-asleep upward twitch of his lips in answer to Dan’s glance.

An urge to shift upward, to reach, overtook Dan’s chest as Phil’s eyes drifted shut again. An overpowering want to kiss him. But...

They could cuddle like this, could wrap themselves around each other, could fall asleep like this, but could this calm last? Could this be real when the day crept through the curtains, when every issue they pretended didn’t exist in the night came to light?

Even if he woke up next to Phil this time...could they ever be more than a mistake of a one night stand?

As he stared at Phil’s sleeping face, Dan wondered why he couldn’t make that move that seemed comparable to a sheer plunge off a cliff − that familiar, domestic peck on the lips, like he had a right to Phil, like they could be so casually, easily intimate. He couldn’t make that step when this fragile thing they had could crumble at any second.

It was all up to Phil, the one he’d hurt, the one with more to lose, the one attached to someone he loved enough to call his boyfriend.

But for now, Dan could savour this − for this moment, he could continue to pretend this delicate equilibrium might stretch into eternity.

Gently, he pressed his cheek once more to Phil’s skin, letting the quiet, reassuring thump calm him, closing his eyes.

The moment hung suspended for a few precious seconds when the calm was once again broken by the shrill of Phil’s phone.

Dan couldn’t suppress a groan of protest as Phil jumped a little beneath him and started to ease out of bed toward the noise. That was the outside world calling, and he didn’t want it ruining this, but Phil didn’t seem to notice his qualms as he leaned over the floor to fumble among discarded clothes, blinking sleepily.

Disappointment set in, and Dan knew it was an immature move, but he needed to keep Phil’s attention as his hand emerged from a jean pocket, clutching a still-ringing phone that he reached to answer. If he couldn’t have him outside of this room, right now, he would take what more he could get. So he wrapped his arms around Phil as tightly as he could manage, pushing his face against Phil’s ribs. Phil flinched, surprised, as he answered.

“D-Dan – I’m – PJ? What is it?”

Dan stared up at him, unmoving, as Phil’s hand came to rest on his head, his attention preoccupied with the phone. Whether the hand was to soothe or push away, Dan didn’t know, but he didn’t wait to find out. How much longer could they stay like this? How much longer did he have?

He wouldn’t get romance, he couldn’t have a relationship, he shouldn’t get to want domesticity. Phil had those things. Dan didn’t get to offer them to him. But he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to take every last moment of his consolation prize − and pretend it didn’t leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

He let his lips ghost across Phil’s side, trailing soft kisses across his beautiful skin, and as his tongue slipped out to trace gentle patterns along his canvas, Phil’s attention snapped to him. His eyes were wide, and as Dan continued to meet his gaze as he nipped, Phil writhed, his hand tightening in a warning fashion on Dan’s head. “Dan −” he hissed, his breathing tightening, and now he was definitely tugging Dan away.

“Y-yes, PJ. I’ll...sorry. I’ll go...get him. We’ll be down in a bit. Goodbye −”

He stopped, his rushed farewell cut off by the voice on the other line, while Dan took advantage of the distraction and slipped free of his loosening fingers. He was like a petulant child – but that didn’t mean he was going to stop.

“I know Simon has been trying to call, I’ll get back to him. Let me handle my own boyfriend, okay?”

He couldn’t hear this...

“Dan...uh, yeah. He came to visit me, just to...talk about some things. He went back to his room early...”

 _You wanted this. You asked for this. You said you’d forget after one night,_ his mind whispered traitorously as his arms wound upward and around his bedmate once more, as he slid across Phil’s torso to nose into his neck, his ear, as Dan chewed the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the burning behind his eyes and the lump in his throat. Why did a game like this hurt so much?

He laughed breathily, quietly when Phil’s voice caught as Dan’s fingers explored the planes of his body.

“He said he wanted to go to bed... Go to sleep! Go to sleep early. He was tired. Listen, PJ, I have to – I have to go. I won’t −” He gasped as Dan dragged teeth along the underside of his jaw. “Ineedtogetreadybye.”

He hung up and tossed the phone away, then promptly _hauled_ Dan away from him by the scruff of the neck. “ _What_ was that?!”

Dan didn’t have an answer, he just winced at the pull of hair and looked away. After a moment, Phil let go, and Dan slowly sank back, tucking his chin against Phil’s shoulder. If he could pass off the slight overflow of liquid in his eyes as pain, that was good.

“Dan...” Phil’s voice wasn’t angry anymore, it wasn’t even chiding. Just quiet disappointment, a touch of worry. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Dan murmured, letting his fingers curl into fists atop Phil’s shoulders as he pushed himself up once more. “Nothing at all.”

“Hey.” Phil tried to meet his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. We have to go, don’t we?” Dan rolled out of the bed, searching among the clothes on the floor for his own and heading towards the bathroom. He rubbed the side of his neck and winced at the resulting dull ache he found there. A quick glance in the mirror told him why – and had him inhaling sharply. The entire side of his neck was littered with red-purple splotches, bright and all-too-plentiful. Too apparent, too obvious, considering what he did for a living, considering some of the shoots they had planned over the next few days –

“Ugh,” he groaned, gingerly pressing at the love bites and grimacing. “What did you do? I’ll have to cover up my entire neck!”

“Good,” Dan thought he heard mumbled from the direction of the bed, but when he looked over, Phil had his back to him, pulling a belt around his hips. As he yanked on a T-shirt and turned back toward Dan, he stopped, raising an eyebrow as he stopped in front of Dan, who stared, confused.

“You’re blocking the door?”

“Oh.” Dan hurriedly stepped out of the bathroom, the door closing behind Phil, leaving Dan alone in Phil’s space. Without dark hair and blue eyes to get lost in, Dan let his gaze wander over the room. Small, compared to his, but still nice. Probably once neat, now decidedly _not_.

Odds and ends – camera lenses, straps, and various other bits Dan couldn’t place – sat on the side table, presided over by a leafy potted plant. The bed was a thorough mess by now, and Phil had grabbed new clothes, so his old ones were still on the floor.

Dan’s eyes landed on the lump of faded green and silver zipper lying across stone tiles – Phil’s sweatshirt that he’d been wearing yesterday.

He was slowly approaching, wrapping his fingers around worn garment, picking it up and pressing it to his face before he knew what he was doing.

It smelled like him.

He looked back at the closed bathroom door as he slipped on his shoes, allowing himself to briefly feel the ache as he softly eased open the front door.

He didn’t know what he expected. For Phil to throw the last year of his life out the window for a broken fuckup model when he was in love with someone else? How could he expect that? Dan had no right to Phil anymore.

The click of the locked door behind him was decisive, but the well-loved fabric clutched in his hand was a souvenir he wouldn’t let go of for the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> babes i know it looks like i just sank us right back into this angsty pool of terribly sad quicksand but i assure you dan’s just being silly and unnecessarily emo about this whole situation like what’s new  
> phil ain’t done w/ him yet ;)  
> FYI: I’m heading into finals so I probably will be on a bit of a break after updating my Miraculous Ladybug fic with its next chapter – at least until my giant architecture projects are actually kinda done – so see you in a couple weeks!


	23. Shimmering Scales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screams* is.........is this actually............the return of the TRU FLUFF??? after 500 centuries of those last chapters AND being gone for 800 more???  
> what is fluff I don't know i've never written fluffy things in my life it's all pain and death ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> -  
> *coughs* also um yikes they can't keep their goddamn hands off each other so like semi-smut warnin after dan nods "VEHEMENTLY" BC CONSENT IS IMPORTANT KIDS

Phil had a speech prepared when he knocked on Dan’s door two days later. Maybe it was the suspicious PJ glances. Maybe it was the way Dan seemed to have been looking past him every time their eyes could’ve met. Maybe it was his empty expressions.

Maybe it was being left without word or note, simply a warm indent in Phil’s mattress where Dan Howell had once sat.

Had this been how Dan had felt, a year ago? Had it been half this bad, even, he couldn’t...

No, it had probably been worse for Dan, now that Phil thought about it. Phil had gone and hadn’t spoken to him in a year. At least he could talk to Dan if he wanted to.

And god did he want to.

So when PJ had groaned one morning about needing someone to go get Dan, Phil’s hand had been up and straining before PJ had finished half his sentence.

“Come in,” came a quiet call from inside, and Phil pushed open the door, his mouth also open, ready to begin his half-lecture, half-apology. He could spy Dan standing in the bathroom in front of the mirrors, so he started towards the bent-double model when Dan turned towards him and Phil stopped in his tracks.

Dan was clad in only a pair of dark, clinging boxer-briefs, and the food that had been shoveled down his throat recently had been doing him some good. He looked damn good, really, that would have probably been enough to have Phil stuttering through the first words of his spiel.

But no, no, the real star of the show, what had Phil dry mouthed and completely and utterly speechless, was what Dan had apparently applied to his own face. On his own.

Shimmering blue, green, teal, even hints of purple glittered across his face in delicate but definite scales. Tiny pearls clustered around his temple, fanning out across his cheek and into his combed back hairline, radiant with its own luminescent cool-coloured paint that faded to his real hair.

“Yes?”

“I, I...you’re, uh. PJ wants you.”

Before Dan could reply, Phil was back through Dan’s front door, slamming it shut behind him and leaning against it, trying to get his breath to return.

Well, shit.

***

Dan showed up in the last van to the location a half an hour later, his visible face and neck fully scaled and bejeweled and now wearing joggers and a hoodie that looked...curiously familiar.

Phil sat in the back, quiet and ignored as a few people exclaimed over Dan having done all this himself and did he really need Louise after all?

Dan waved them off with with a half-smile and then preceded to moodily glare out the window the entire rest of the drive.

The location was a lagoon, a quaint blue rocky pool hidden from civilization by lush trees and greenery – a gorgeous, sun-lit clearing that would probably have been great to film in...except it felt like hell itself to Phil.

Getting the hang of new equipment as well as trying to handle what they’d tried to waterproof themselves was hard enough. Loading it onto the raft-ish device they’d rigged so that Dan could submerge himself in the water and they could still get shots wasn’t fun.

But doing all of these while watching a still silent and once-more-stripped-down-to-boxers Dan shimmying into a glimmering mermaid tail, that was _bad_.

As two crew members helped Dan climb over the side of the raft without the use of his legs, Phil tried to do this staring through the camera and equipment firmly attached to his shoulder.

He didn’t count on the last flick of Dan’s eyes before he submerged to be directly into his own.

***

_I’m done, done, done. Finished._

_I’m not going to do this anymore._

It had been echoing in his head since that one goddamn look. Dan hadn’t given him so much as a half-glance since, and it had been hours. Hours of paddling, shifting, “and...cut,” “try again, _softer_ , Dan,” waterlogged shoes, of watching mesmerizing scales catch the light under the water as they drifted and floated and flicked. Watching Dan become an underwater ballet dancer, his neck craned, his hips swaying, arms outstretched delicately. His face coolly detached, mysterious, eyes beckoning yet warning away the camera.

There were a few too many gasping reentries into the world above the water, calm moments broken by Dan erupting from the water to cling to the side of the raft and try to weakly breathe, and it made Phil’s chest hurt.

By the time the break for lunch was called, and everyone retired to the car park, where a small food cart, a run-down public bathroom, and a dumpster were the only backdrop in comparison to the tiny slice of paradise just through the trees, Phil was vibrating.

Though the lagoon itself was roped off for their filming, the walking trail through the trees was not, and the car park was pretty full of more than just the crew vehicles. So as Phil waited by the opening in the trees to the lagoon for the absent merman to clean himself up, glancing around for anybody watching, he felt pretty confident he’d go unnoticed.

As footsteps padded their way up the path, Phil tapped his fingers against his thigh and seized Dan’s wrist the second he came into view.

Brown eyes flicked up from beneath a hood to stare at him, surprised, but Phil ignored this in favour of surveying the area to be sure no one would see and –

_All clear._

He yanked, and Dan put up little resistance as they wove between cars toward the brown stone walls, a tug out of sight from the bathroom doors and behind the dumpster and a shove into the wall and Dan was guardedly staring at him, his shoulders at his ears and his eyes sullenly hooded.

“What?”

“ _What_?” Phil repeated disbelievingly. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Dan folded his arms.

“For god’s sake. How many times are we going to do this? We need to...we need to talk about this, Dan, we need to talk to each other. That’s our issue, we never talk. We can’t just – vanish on each other and then pretend nothing ever happened! What’s wrong? Why would you leave?”

“It was a one-time thing. Right? We said that. A nice memory, pretending to live in the past. I’m over you now, you’re over me. It was a game. The game’s over.”

“It wasn’t a game for me.” The words were out, too immediate and too serious, before Phil could catch up.

Blue eyelashes fluttered as Dan parted shimmering lips. “But...Simon,” he finally rasped.

It hung in the air, a name dripping poison. Phil closed his eyes. “Screw him,” he muttered.

A breathy pause. “What did you say?”

“Screw Simon.” He opened his eyes to find Dan searching them, a hint of fearful hope hiding in his face. Phil took a deep breath. “I never − I never felt anything with Simon that was ever... _remotely_ the way I felt when I...when we... Fuck, Dan.” He twisted his fingers into his hair. “It wasn’t a game, it never was.”

He watched Dan’s gaze drift. “Was it for you?”

Back to him. A slow, small shake of the head. Phil dared to step closer.

“Can I...”

Dan’s hand came up to cup his jaw.

“Can I kiss you?”

A small nod that grew as Dan’s hand wrapped around the back of Phil’s neck to guide him in. 

* * *

 

_It wasn’t a memory._

He was soft where Dan had become sharp, he was warm while Dan was cold, he was everything. Dan thought he could probably make out pressed against a dirty wall behind a dumpster with Phil Lester forever. 

* * *

 

_It wasn’t a game._

Phil inhaled the scent of Dan. He always smelled ever-so-faintly of some expensive, chocolatey, musky cologne, like Dan had spritzed some on a few days ago and it still lingered. _  
_

* * *

 

_Phil._

Dan was probably making too many embarrassing noises against Phil’s lips as Phil tugged on the edges of his hood to pull him in deeper, as one of his hands wandered down to clutch at the small of Dan’s back, as the other began to stroke down his chest.

* * *

 

_Dan._

Phil broke from their locked lips as his fingers caught the worn zipper and he smirked lightly into Dan’s dazed eyes, finally placing it. “Over me, huh? You were gonna say that while wearing my stolen hoodie?”

“Shut up.” Dan avoided his gaze, chewing on the side of his lip as he hooked his fingers through the loops of Phil’s jeans to tug him back against him.

Phil complied, letting the zipper teeth slide open as he kissed Dan again – first on the mouth, then raining soft pecks across the tip of his chin, his throat, then the chest Phil was slowly baring, down to his stomach.

“Can I?”

Dan’s nod was vehement this time.

If Phil dropped to his knees, if Dan’s fingers sank into his hair, nails scraping his scalp, if Phil set to work getting more than simply panting to escape Dan’s lips (and he succeeded), if Dan’s joggers ended up around his ankles, it wasn’t necessarily things they’d discuss in detail later. But both of them also knew it wouldn’t be forgotten or ignored this time. And as Dan strangled a final panting moan into his fist at Phil’s blue eyes flicking up into his, he fell back, breathless, against the wall, and murmured, “So it...it really wasn’t a one-time thing?”

“Dan.” Phil pushed himself to his feet, swiping a sleeve across his mouth as he raised an eyebrow. “I’m wiping your come off my face. What do you think?”

Dan giggled, distinctly pink underneath his scales, wrapping his arms around Phil’s neck and rubbing a thumb across Phil’s nose. It came away smudged with shimmer. “Yeah. We should, uh, probably go get cleaned up. We got my makeup everywhere. And we’ll be off break soon. But...”

“But...” Phil leaned in. “We’re not done here. Talking, or...or any of this.”

“Okay. Okay, good.” Dan’s grin was ear-to-ear as he leaned down to straighten out his clothes, and started to reach for his open sweatshirt when he stopped. “You probably want this back, don’t you?”

Phil zipped it up to Dan’s chin for him and tugged on the hoodie strings. “I couldn’t take it now, not when I know for a fact it looks better on you.”

Dan’s answering smile was dazzling.

***

And if, when they returned separately to the shoot − cleaned up and appropriately professional-looking and nonchalant – and Dan began stripping down to step back into his tail, the crew started tittering and asking how on earth he’d managed to get smudges of makeup across his stomach, of all places, Dan and Phil pointedly did _not_ look at each other. Much.

If the blushing glance was there, it was brief and went unnoticed by those around them.

But as Dan gently ran a hand across the re-applied shimmering scales patterning his cheeks before they started lowering him over the side of the raft, Phil’s stomach felt fuzzy, and he didn’t think he could stop smiling if he tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT - oops i drew my own fanart of my own fanfic bc where the fuck is merm!dan? Nowhere that's where  
> what the fuck  
> here it's terrible i drew it when i was winding down from a panic attack which is gr8  
>   
> -  
> LISTEN  
> LISTEN  
> I HAD TERRIBLE SECOND THOUGHTS ABOUT HOW THIS FIC WAS GOING AND KEPT ON HATING ALL THE STUFF I HAD WRITTEN  
> AND THEN I HAD A GIANT CONVENTION FOR WHICH I WAS COSPLAYING COMPLICATED THINGS WITH WONDERFUL TALENTED FRIENDS (which went really amazing tho thank you for asking [check out my beautiful instagram for updates on my cosplay life ;)](https://www.instagram.com/kayizcray/) )  
> AND ALSO JUST FUCKIN TAKIN A 16 CREDIT WRITING CLASS TAKES A WHOLE LOT OF WORK ;_;  
> SO JUST KNOW THAT I MAY BE BAD AT UPDATING SOMETIMES BUT I PROMISE YOU  
> I PROMISE  
> THIS FIC WILL BE FINISHED EVENTUALLY  
> I WON’T ABANDON IT OK I WILL JUST SOMETIMES VANISH FOR LIKE (OVER) A MONTH SORRY BUT HOPIN TO GET BACK ON TRACK NOW  
> (ALSO. SOFT BOYE. FUCK ME. GOOD FUCKIN SHIT)  
> CARRY ON NOW


	24. Calm Before The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more fluff? how? i’m gonna throw up i made it too sickly sweet it’s fuckin gross  
> (also check out the mer!dan art i added to the last chapter i made it it’s bad ;0)

Dan was thoroughly shaking by the time the photographer called a wrap and he was hoisted out of the water.

The towels several people had tried to rub him down with were now sodden and dripping, not helping in the slightest.

A gentle, warm hand on his back, though, that helped.

(Though probably not quite as literally as chilled-to-the-bone Dan really needed.)

Still, as he glanced over his shoulder, catching Phil’s eyes squarely and intently focused on him – a slightly concerned scrunch to his eyebrows – he _felt_ warm again. Warmth from his stomach, from his chest as he grinned through chattering teeth.

They determined that Dan should sit in the car with the heat on high until they finished packing up, and regretfully, Phil’s hand withdrew.

Dan bit back disappointment and told himself he was being really goddamn dramatic. 

* * *

 

“Phil, are you coming?”

Phil started and turned back from where he’d been starting to drift – the other van. The van with a pretty merman, which was probably already almost full.

He had practically forgotten PJ had been standing next to him. The look on PJ’s face said _he_ hadn’t forgotten.

“Er, um. I figured I should...go check up on...my _charge_ , you know,” Phil stammered.

PJ’s suspicion was veiled, but it was still an obvious enough hint in his eyes. “Phil.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Louise should be back to work tomorrow. So you know you won’t be looking after him anymore, right? Also −”

He cut himself off, and through the sinking in his stomach at the words already said, Phil felt he’d been about to say something even more important.

“What?”

“No, just...Never mind.”

“Tell me!”

“I’ve been getting some calls from – no, forget it. Go ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

***

Dan was sitting in the back, swaddled in a blanket nest, when Phil stepped into the car. Dan had taken up most of the seat, so the bench next to him was empty. Or at least, empty in the sense that it was covered by blankets.

Everywhere else was full.

Phil hesitated and then started to back out of the doors. Maybe he should go back to the other van, where there was room. But then the lump of blankets seemed to catch sight of him and a face poked out. Dan shot him a Look and insistently patted the seat next to him.

He felt like a dorky idiot, chewing on his lip to keep from smiling so dopily as he made his way to the back.

Dan looked at him with his own half-smile as he plopped down next to him. Phil looked back, still pressing his lips together to fight back the grin. The van started to move as they glanced away from each other, both smiling very stupid smiles.

Phil broke the silence after a few minutes with a murmur that only Dan could hear over the chatter of the radio and the rest of the crew. “Are you still cold?”

“I don’t know, why? Are you warm?” Dan’s sidelong glance carried a solid smirk now.

“I don’t know,” Phil echoed. “Maybe.”

“Well, then I guess the nice thing to do would be to stop being selfish and share a little warmth, then.”

The blanket enveloped him, and underneath the blanket, so did Dan’s arms. He nestled against Phil’s shoulder, smiling up at him from underneath still-tinted-sapphire lashes, and Phil could have kissed him then, but they were in a crowded van. He satisfied himself by leaning back into Dan instead, pressing his cheek to the top of Dan’s head.

He could tell Dan was starting to drift off when they began to turn into the hotel, but as comfortable as this was –

Gently, he sat up, breaking them apart as Dan roused himself and blinked, gazing around, disoriented. He caught Phil’s arm, though, when Phil started to stand up.

“Hey. I’m going to use my hot tub. If you want to...”

_You can come too._

Phil wet his lips and nodded. “I’ll just...I’ll grab some swimwear.” 

* * *

 

Dan wiped at his newly clean cheeks and relaxed into the gentle, hot bubbles. The knock on the door was quiet, but he was listening for it. “Come in!”

The door opened and closed, and Phil appeared in the living room, padding across the floor in bare feet. Swim trunks and a loose T-shirt hung from his frame, but as he approached the tub, he slowly discarded the shirt, staring at his toes while he did so.

He stepped into the frothy water still not looking at Dan, who didn’t like it.

“Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“No more secrets, remember?”

Phil let out a breath as he settled into his seat. “I haven’t been swimming much on the trip because...well, I don’t exactly have a beach body.”

“Neither do I, anymore. I’m still all ribs and no muscle.” Dan tried, unsuccessfully, to catch Phil’s eyes as the other man barked a laugh in response.

“Maybe...but you still look...”

“Phil.”

Slowly, Dan crept his way through the water to straddle Phil’s lap. Phil was already slightly flushed from the steam, but he seemed to become even more so as his eyes finally raised from water level to meet Dan’s, his gaze up at him almost reverent.

“Phil, you’re really, really pretty.”

Phil ducked away, embarrassed, and glanced back when Dan couldn’t hold back anymore, reaching to grab Phil’s chin. He could feel the hunger in his movements as he leaned in and allowed himself to indulge in Phil’s mouth.

It was soft, but deep. He sealed his lips against Phil’s and _pressed_ , curling himself around Phil’s body.

Phil’s arms wrapped loosely around Dan’s hips as he kissed back.

When they parted, a breath away from each other, Phil’s dark eyes and lazily content smile were so beautiful Dan couldn’t breathe.

“You’re...” he murmured, and Phil stopped chasing after his lips, a curious glance darted up at him instead. He cleared his throat and tried not to blur words together as they tumbled out in a whisper.

“You’re just...you’re not what I’m _used_ to. And that’s so good,” he hastened to say as Phil’s brow creased. “You’re handsome, but it’s not botoxed or airbrushed or surgically altered, you’re...”

He ran a hand over sun-damaged skin on Phil’s cheek and smiled. “You’re real. And I like your pretty eyes, and your stupid pretty grin, but also I like your spots, your nerdiness, and I like your not-beach-body, okay?”

Phil buried his head against Dan’s shoulder. “Why?” he mumbled. “I don’t. Nobody does. People don’t like those things.”

“Because I like you, you idiot.”

Phil peered up at him from underneath his eyelashes, thoroughly scarlet, and Dan put the rest of whatever this messed up ball of weird, fluttery feelings in his chest was that he couldn’t even voice into another kiss, hands finding the rim of the tub to grip as Phil clutched him closer.

They didn’t hear the door opening, but they heard the loud call of “Dan!”

They sprang apart, and Dan was immediately across the hot tub and wiping his mouth, muttering, “Shit.”

He’d forgotten. She’d texted him a week ago that she would be coming in today. And here she was.

Phil looked lost. He didn’t know that voice like Dan did.

“Yes, I get it, all right? Listen, I have to talk to Dan and then go rest. I just got out of a long flight and he’s just had an equally long day of shooting. So has Phil. I’ll talk to him later −”

Isabelle stopped in the balcony doorway, staring at Phil. The phone she held up in front of her buzzed with unintelligible words, and she shook her head.

“No, Phil’s...Never mind. Phil’s right here.” 

* * *

 

Dan’s manager’s expression was carefully blank as she stared at Phil. He felt horror creep cold fingers up his spine as he finally caught the words from the phone – in a recognizable voice.

“Well then, let me talk to him, finally!”

Isabelle held out the phone with a stiff arm. Phil could only sneak a single sideways glance at Dan, who looked sick as Phil began to climb out of the hot tub to take the phone.

He’d FaceTimed Isabelle. Why or how, exactly, Phil didn’t know. He couldn’t ask, either, not when Simon’s eyes were so hard through the screen.

“Hello, Phil. Long time no see.”

***

“I meant to call. It’s just been so busy, you know? We’re finishing up work soon, though, and I’ll...I’ll have time to call?”

He’d locked himself in Dan’s bathroom, and he could still barely look at Simon’s face.

“Is that what you call it? _Work_?”

“Sorry?”

“Alone in that fucking model in his room? In the hot tub together? What do you take me for, Phil?”

“Simon, let’s...This isn’t the time or place to have this conversation.” Phil wanted his voice to be firm, but it betrayed him by trembling. “We can...talk when I get home, okay? It won’t be that much longer.”

He owed Simon that much. Not to break up with him over the phone. They’d been through so much together. Right?

“Phil, if you hang up now, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Phil stared at the screen.

There was a disconnect between the heart thumping too fast in his chest and his finger, moving of its own accord. It trembled, though, as Phil watched it hover above the button.

He hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Isabelle came in: ♫ "Two bros chillin in a hot tub five feet apart 'cause they're not gay!" ♫  
> -  
> THIS FIC TURNS A YEAR OLD TODAY, THE 16TH OF MAY!  
> (if u thinkin bitch u posted this at 12:01am on the 17th what r u doin w/ ur life u right but listen i am juggling LIFE CURVEBALLS LEFT AND RIGHT HERE)  
> *party poppers* obviously this merits a long ass speech  
> i’m crying i never thought i had this good of an attention span but through the ups and downs, months of not updating, questionable moments wherein i considered how terribly i wrote this, and blood, sweat and tears, this fic has earned its spot as my child  
> and now it’s like 60k words finally lol why has it taken me a year to write 60-fucking-k when some people bang out a solid 100k in a few months or less? who knows  
> (depression and goddamn college tbh)  
> i really do love this fic a lot though. like everyone who comments “fuck simon” and “goddamn these two why can’t they get their acts together” and “wow this author should probably get their shit in order and write better” or things to that effect all have a special place in my heart  
> (nobody commented that last thing btw like pretty much every frickin comment i get on this thing is goddamn wonderful and y’all keep me going when i hate myself yeeeeee)  
> i’ll also never forget the day i got fanart and ascended to the heavens to look down upon earth as i held the computer screen containing the masterpiece in my hands (it was fucking gorgeous ;_;) no joke i cried a little (a lot) and smiled the whole rest of the otherwise awful day  
> i’ll shut the fuck up now and go write more actual fic bye


	25. Plans & Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooop i been gone way too long yike  
> *tries to remember how to write this story*  
> *fails*

“So. You couldn’t stay away from him, huh?”

Dan swallowed as he looked up from his hands, sitting on the bed, prepared for anger, frustration, bitterness from Isabelle.

There was a trace of sadness, maybe slight disappointment, but as she looked him over, she wasn’t angry. His surprise must have been evident, because she sighed and folded her arms as she met his eyes. “I’m not going to attack you, Dan. You tore yourself apart over this man, and I...I had a hand in that, and I’m sorry for it. I’m scared you’ll do it again, but...”

She looked him up and down again. “You’ve been taking care of yourself. You’ve managed. And it’s been so long since −”

A sniffle, a glance toward the ceiling to blink away tears in vain, and Dan was launching himself off the bed to hug her. She met him halfway, laughing wetly.

Since his fall into depression, Isabelle had become more than just his manager, the closest thing he had to a friend, she’d been the mother he’d never felt he’d had.

“Except for that one thing.” She broke free from him and leveled a half-serious glare his way. “That collapse?”

“I’m fine now, it’s fine, it’s fine, see?” Quickly, he guided her back into a distraction of a hug.

“Hmm,” she hemmed and hawed, her tone unconvinced.

As he squeezed her one last time and let her go, he tried to keep his tone casual. “Hey, how did...how did _that guy_ get in touch with you?”

“Simon?” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know how he tracked down my information, but a week or so ago, he contacted me, said he’d been desperately trying to get into contact with Phil for a while, directly, through PJ, everything. He said he absolutely _needed_ to talk to Phil. It was a bit...creepy, actually.”

Dan felt a shiver of wanting to follow Phil into the bathroom he’d locked himself in, but it wasn’t his right. And Isabelle was already moving on. “Anyhow, enough mothering. You’ve also barely been keeping up _any_ sort of online presence. What’s going on there, Mr. Social Media Mogul? We have to get some promotion going for this, if you want to launch with any kind of success!”

He snorted as he flopped back onto the bed. “Sure, sure. I’ll write up a blog post later.”

“And Instagram. No, you know what? You have what, a few weeks left? We can plan a meet up!”

“A meet up?” Dan echoed warily.

“Dan, Dan, listen, for the documentary! I’ll talk to PJ, we could have fans come talk about how you’ve impacted their lives!”

“I don’t know... It seems kind of conceited. Am I even ready for...all those people?”

“This’ll be good for you, you haven’t been in the public eye for too long. Also, we’re making a documentary about you, Dan, you _have_ to be a bit conceited.” Isabelle reached for her phone, but it was gone – with Phil. She growled in frustration just as the door to the bathroom opened. Dan sat up quickly.

He barely breathed as he watched Phil emerge, his shirt back on, quiet. He could even swear Isabelle was holding her breath.

Phil stared at the ground as he approached, extending the phone to its owner. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Uh, sure.” Isabelle took it.

When he looked up, Phil’s eyes were as unreadable as still blue water, and in that moment, Dan wanted nothing more than to hear what had transpired in that bathroom, or if Phil wouldn’t give him that, at least the ability to maybe hold him silently. _No more secrets,_ he’d said. But he would be happy even if the wall between him and Phil’s emotions fell without words involved, just so long as...

“Well, I’m going to...head out, I suppose.” Isabelle shifted between feet, glancing not-so-surreptitiously in Phil’s direction, but there was a question in her eyes, rather than expectation, as he dropped his gaze. When he didn’t respond, she flicked a quick look at Dan. “I’ll...I’ll leave you to rest, Dan. Um...Phil −”

“Phil.”

Phil looked up again and Isabelle stopped talking.

“Do you want to... watch a film?”

He was rewarded with a tiny smile, the beginnings of a flicker in blank eyes. “Sure.”

Dan looked at Isabelle, who looked back at him. She wet her lips and after a moment, nodded slowly. “Well. Good night, Dan. Phil.”

Phil climbed onto the bed – a good foot away from Dan − as Isabelle left. The door clicked behind her, a final latch, as they watched each other.

“Are you all right?” Dan finally broke the silence with, quietly.

“Yeah.” Phil laced together his fingers in his lap, twiddling them. “I said I’d...I’d talk to him when I get back.”

“So you’re going to −” Dan snapped his mouth shut. _Wasn’t his business._

“Yes.” Phil’s gaze was intent, boring into him. “Yes, I am.”

“Oh.” Dan took a shaky breath, suppressing a sudden rush of odd euphoria, and scooted back against the giant bed headboard, rubbing his forehead.

Break up. Phil was going to...

“So.” Phil’s face was close, he’d crawled closer, next to Dan now. “About that film.”

“Ah,” Dan chuckled, reaching for the remote.

He turned on the TV to head for the pay-per-view movie menu when Phil moved still closer. Gently, he nudged into Dan’s arm, until Dan finally moved it, sending a questioning glance Phil’s way. Looking up at him, Phil slowly tucked himself against Dan’s chest. “Is this...okay?”

“Y-yeah.” Dan let his arm settle around Phil as he turned back to the screen, trying to tamp down a giant grin as he started flicking through them, not paying the least amount of attention.

“Ooh. The Goonies, classic.”

“Yeah? I haven’t −”

“Dan, if this is a pattern I’m going to have to deal with, I don’t know if I can do us anymore.” Phil grabbed the remote and hit play. “I’m going to write up a list of what you _have_ to watch to meet my standards.”

“It sure seemed like I was meeting your standards earlier today when you −” Dan was laughing. _Us._ His chest felt fit to burst as Phil twisted to reach up and cover his mouth, eyes narrowed playfully.

“No, no, no! You can’t play that card!”

“− sucking my −”

“Dan _iel_!” Phil shrieked, shoving Dan, who toppled over, howling. He pulled Phil down with him, tugging on his shirt for their lips to crash together. Giggles still bubbled between them as they traded lazy kisses, Phil pinning Dan until he conceded defeat.

Even as they pulled each other up to fall back against the luxurious pillows, Dan snuck in another quick kiss, and then another, and another.

They fell asleep, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, on the same pillow.

In the morning, neither of them could remember watching the movie. 

* * *

 

“So...PDA.” Phil pulled the plainest, cheapest looking shirt Dan had brought with him over his head and tugged it into place, watching Dan as he began working maybe the third hair product through his damp curls in his giant bathroom mirror.

Dan froze at these words, though, his eyes snapping to meet Phil’s in the reflection. “Yeah?”

“Well, what exactly are we planning?”

“Probably...not the best idea? Right?” Dan tweaked a curl absently and reached for another spray. “For either of us. We should keep this to ourselves.”

“For...for right now. Yeah?”

The crease that had taken up residence between Dan’s eyebrows since Phil spoke vanished, and his lips twitched upwards. “Yeah.” He paused to mist hairspray over his masterpiece, then turned to take the steps necessary to plant a firm peck on Phil’s lips before he pulled back. “But that doesn’t mean there won’t be plenty of this...just away from people.”

Phil grinned and grabbed his hips to tug him back again. “Good.”

Dan considered him after another, much softer kiss, and started toward the door. As he opened it, he tossed over his shoulder, “I like you wearing my clothes. I guess I have to take you out of yours more often.”

***

They ruined their resolution, of course. Quicker than they’d expected. It was no big-to-do, but even as Isabelle’s new arrival on set as well as Louise’s reappearance should have helped to distract, PJ was no fool.

Maybe it was a lingering look that lasted too long, a brush of fingers, a quick smile, but when the first break of the day came around, PJ motioned for Phil to follow him. Phil started to, but PJ didn’t move, staring over Phil’s shoulder to where Dan was downing a water bottle. He caught PJ’s look and visibly tried not to choke as the director beckoned to him too.

His glance over to the waiting Isabelle had her hurrying after them as PJ led the way to an out of the way room and turned to all of them in the tense silence.

“So. You two.”

“What?” Isabelle hurried to say, her fingers clenched white around her phone, but Phil waved her back, and she fell silent.

“When were you going to tell me?” PJ asked, studying Phil like a puzzle.

“It...it just happened yesterday.”

“Again,” Dan added in a mumble.

“So that ‘friends’ thing was complete shit? This is what you’ve both been so cut up about this entire project? God. You could have said something.” PJ ran a hand over his face, and looked to Phil again, eyes piercing. “This is why your _boyfriend_ has been pestering me nonstop? What are you doing, Phil?”

Phil flinched, and he felt Dan reach for him, then hesitate, and drop his arm. He wished Dan had just gone for it − he felt alone, trapped in PJ’s gaze. “I’m...I’m going to break up with him. When we get back, I’m telling him we’re done.”

PJ pressed his lips together, folding his arms, then, unexpectedly, smiled. It was small and fierce and it sent a pleasant shock through Phil. “Good. He fucked you up at uni. Get rid of him. And don’t −” he pointed a half serious warning between Dan and Phil “− let this get in the way of our project. All right?”

He ruined the suspicious glance he’d levelled at them by cracking another smile, Phil caught a quick wink, and PJ had swept out of the room. Isabelle looked at them, then after PJ, and slowly followed him.

Phil turned to stare at Dan, who met his gaze with his own wide eyes, and they both let out a collective breath.

It was going to be okay. 

* * *

 

Louise had tittered that she already knew when Dan let it slip to her one break while she powdered him up, and neither he nor Phil really cared or trusted any of the rest of the crew enough to tell.

But it almost felt like their secret...thing barely needed to be kept secret, because now that Isabelle was back, Dan felt the weight of his online presence (or lack thereof, recently) keenly, and it was dragging on everything else on his plate – Phil included. Dan has forgotten what it was like to need to post content constantly, his filter use was clumsy, his fingers seemed to have forgotten how to type up an acceptable blog post, and he couldn’t even remember the basics on reviewing outfits.

And he was blowing up now that he was back. He hadn’t realized posting a photo after – well, much, much too long – would mean his fanbase would come flooding back, excited and more rabid than ever. But suddenly, his tweets about his meetup were everywhere, and people were asking if this was his comeback.

He hadn’t realized he’d need a comeback.

But if announcing his documentary alongside his clothing line was going to be his comeback, then Dan was making a giant splash.

***

The announcement of the location as well as overzealous fans IDing specific places in which Dan’s posted photos were being taken meant suddenly that they ran the risk of having people find them – and find them they did.

It wasn’t like they were on a large mass of land, and when most of their work took place outside, people were bound to run across them. But without the context and with Dan’s faded fame, it hadn’t been much of an issue.

The first girl had sneaked onto set and gotten a few photos in before anyone realised an intruder was in their midst. Then a small group showed up to scream at Dan.

As their locations leaked, PJ scaled back on filming, and finally declared they’d really gotten enough footage on this trip, anyway, and instead of taking the last few days of the holiday off completely, everyone was free to do as they liked until the actual meetup had to be filmed.

But even the hotel had been found.

Dan felt trapped in his room, stuck typing and posting a backlog of old pictures and staring at a screen full of articles gossiping about him, pretending he wasn’t going crazy.

Isabelle brought him food – she’d showed him a photo that had been caught of Phil and said that they should probably avoid each other for now, and he recognised why, but it still rankled.

Maybe that was the root of his rebellious cracking of his door after what felt like a solid two weeks – what had probably only been a few days – to peer out. But really, he just wanted to run, to stretch his legs, to get _out_.

The walkway was empty.

He crept out. No one stopped him. No cameras flashed.

Cautiously, he looked over the railing. Only a few people in the courtyard below. One or two could have been out of place, but he just needed to get out of his room for a minute –

He’d started to walk, not looking, his gaze still on the people below, and run smack dab into another body.

Luck would have Phil Lester blinking back at him, rubbing his forehead. 

* * *

 

Phil had understood when Isabelle had come to him with the proposal that he should keep away from Dan while there were fans lurking about, ready to barrage them with questions and photos – photos that might get out and start conversations both he and Dan couldn’t really afford right now.

But after a week of no contact, the sight of Dan decked out in full exercise gear – crop top and all, giant sunglasses hiding his face, a band to hold his hair out of his face – wincing after almost bowling Phil over – was enough to erase any promises from his mind.

Especially when Dan grabbed his shoulders and pulled him in close. “Help!”

“W-what?” Phil startled at the insistent tone, trying to wet his lips with a dry tongue. Dan made anything look good, but wow, there was something about that shirt and its lovely baring of his toned stomach...

“You have to sneak me out. I have to _do_ something!”

“You’re gonna get spotted, though.” Phil cut his eyes toward a few people drifting into the hotel below and then back to Dan, who’d lowered his sunglasses. He looked truly desperate, and Phil’s heart pinged.

“I’m going to die if I stay in there any longer. Please, I just want to have a quick jog, Phil. Give me this one thing!”

Phil could feel a grin starting as he shoved Dan’s shoulder, whose own lips were curling upward as Phil touched him. “You’re such a drama queen. I’m coming with you, dork.”

“Good,” Dan sighed, his arm suddenly wound tightly through Phil’s, his hand gripping Phil’s hand. As Phil blinked in surprised, he nuzzled into Phil’s neck. “Because damn, have I wanted to do this more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck me chat noir has ruined me i almost wrote “howell”ing when dan was howling with laughter i hate myself i never punned and now i do nonstop  
> *panting* i can taste the end coming soon can you i mean we’re not done yet we got some Final Showdowns, some Final Scenes, some FINAL CLOSURES set to occur but BOIIIII imma finish this in a few more chapters???????? wtf  
> (watch me accidentally stretch this out into ten more because i can’t let my baby go)  
> -  
> Fun fact, true story: my first kiss(es) happened watching The Goonies in a movies-in-the-park thing & I never really ended up watching the movie either lol and now I feel like i can’t ever watch it out of respect for the universe telling me I shouldn’t know what the hell the movie actually is (which is kinda sad because tbh they weren’t really great kisses yikes then he also asked me out that night & i dated the dude for six months Y I K E S) (then a couple years later i realized my not-female, not-generally-into-cis-dudes ass should probably date other people anyway so)

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT (10/2): Hello my darlings...I am not done with this story BELIEVE IT OR NOT because it's been years upon internet years since i updated  
> just going through possibly the busiest and worst mental health times of my life sorry  
> I will return to this story, hopefully soon, and I WILL FINISH IT.  
> I WILL. just know that ;)  
> -  
> please contribute to the "kay would like to transcend this human form and rid themself of responsibilities" fund by donating a comment today as every one reduces me to a puddle on the floor thx  
> also check out my other two ongoing fics if you've made it this far in this monster of a story: an aged up miraculous ladybug lovesquare fic & a kinda magic-y modern klance au!  
> [my creative tumblr](http://kayizcray.tumblr.com) | [my personal tumblr](http://ihaveacleverfandomurl.tumblr.com/)


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